


Just this Once

by ToWhomItMayConcern



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV), The Mandalorian x fem!Reader
Genre: Biting, Chaotics nearly setting the ship on fire, Choking, Cockwarming, Creampie, Cumplay, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, F/M, Facial, Fingering, Fluff, Maybe oUtdOoR sEx, Oral Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Voyeurism, chase - Freeform, face fucking, handjobs, lawd, maybe size kink?, maybe some angst in the future, more to come - Freeform, slight humiliation, spitting, thigh grinding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToWhomItMayConcern/pseuds/ToWhomItMayConcern
Summary: The lines of your growing and complicated relationship with the Mandalorian is tested after three simple words: just this once.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Fem!Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 113
Kudos: 933





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch

You wish you could pinpoint the exact moment your relationship with the Mandalorian shifted.

When the air between the two of you wasn’t so tense and _agitated_.

Lately it’s like you can’t even be in the same room without a little comment or argument here and there. It’s all stupid, miniscule words, yet it doesn’t ease the sting of it when you have to be stuck in a room, a small _ship_ , with him.

But you barely know a thing about the man to go on from it, try to put together the puzzle pieces that is your Mandalorian. You do know, however, that he’s tall, quiet, and he’s got a _temper_.

You can feel it now as he seethes in his steps, walking furiously in front of you towards the direction of the Razor Crest with the quarry in hand, not bothering to struggle anymore with the hunter’s strong grip and your blaster aimed at his back.

Walking behind them, you turn every now and then to make sure there are no unwanted followers. You don’t think anyone would be stupid to after what they saw.

It took some heavy pleading for Mando to agree on letting you come with. You’re not the best trained in the area of combat, but you like to think you can handle a blaster just fine… as long as they are within range.

Plus it was only a small bounty, so no harm no foul then right?

Well, you definitely can’t say that _now_.

Not when your guy was sprouting bruises and swelling to his face from the brutal beating he received.

“I heard about you,” he sneered as soon as he noticed the Mandalorian. “You’re the one who broke the Guild. Got them killed too, didn’t you?”

You don’t know much about Mando’s past before you met him. It doesn’t bother you, you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to his partnership.

But after seeing Mando blow up the way he did? The composed, almost mechanical and logical Mando? You know that whatever the quarry said - you hadn’t bothered learning his name, Mando had that covered - it hit the Mandalorian with a steel sharp to his _soul._

You thought you were going to have to pull Mando off him, but he still had enough self control to stop himself before he killed the man, you have to give him points for that.

Still the image plays over and over in your head. The blood you know is on the knuckles of his gloves. Maybe little drops splattered onto his arms and legs.

It sends a chill through your body. But the most fucked up thing about it?

It kinda turned you on.

You don’t know what kind of a person that makes you, and you don’t really want to find out either; better to keep those demons hidden in your wildest, deepest fantasies. 

_Not like you’ll get them anyway._

You leave Mando to freeze the man once you arrive on the ship. You _do_ want to say something, try to ease his mind, but you know nothing you say or do will make him feel better right now.

If anything, your silence is the best way to go.

“Hey little man,” you greet the tiny green creature. “How’s it going?”

The Child - you’re not sure why Mando still calls him that but you go with it - coos up at you and gives you a small, lopsided smile.

“Sorry had to leave ya here by yourself,” you say to him, sitting down on the edge of your cot. “We’ll try to do better with that.”

You’re not sure if you can keep that promise, and it does make you feel a little bad for him. It must get lonely and tiring, especially as a baby - even if he is fifty years old.

You hear Mando stomp up to the cockpit. Another tell-tale sign of his lingering anger. Somehow, it brings a comfort to you; just hearing him, knowing he’s on the ship.

It takes a while to get the Child to settle after you feed him. You have to talk idly to him, telling him random stories you can think of. It works eventually, even tiring _yourself_ out, and you carefully place him in his little pod. You know it’s late now, and you hadn’t heard Mando move at all since he started flying the ship.

Sighing, you turn around to make your way to the fresher, deciding that you’re going to need some rest while he’s piloting.

“Maker!” You gasp.

Mando stands right there by the ladder, visor trained on you with a slight tilt. You don’t know how long he’s been watching you - an annoying habit of his that you still haven’t gotten used to - and even though you can’t see through that helmet he wears, you somehow know that he wants his gaze to _burn_ you.

“Y-you uh,” you croak, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “You scared me there. What do you need?”

He says nothing, and you start to feel the air thicken with that same tension that’s been plaguing you for weeks. Your chest tightens as your heart slows, blood rushing to your ears.

What is he trying to do to you?

“Take off your clothes.”

Your eyes widen.

_What?_

Did you really just hear that?

Your body stiffens with confusion, mouth becoming uncomfortably dry. The beat that was once slow and eerie pounds away with a vengeful fury and you’re surprised you can even still breathe.

_This is a trick. No, a dream. You accidentally fell asleep with the kid and you’re gonna wake up any moment now, disappointed and incredibly horny._

You blink.

And he’s still standing there, waiting for your response.

This is real.

The only thing you can do is try and rattle your brain for something to say. That one word to perfectly describe what you’re feeling right now…

“What?”

He finally takes a step forward.

You take a step back on instinct.

“You heard what I said.” He says, and it’s hard, rough under the vocoder.

You did. But can he really blame you for having a hard time comprehending the fact that he’s standing right there in front of you, telling you to take your _clothes off_? In _front_ of him?

He can’t. He can’t because when the fuck has he ever _looked_ at you in that way? Or given the slightest hint to it? You were just partners, maybe even considered friends, but everything between the two of you was strictly professional.

It’s just all very confusing.

Either way, heat pools in your lower stomach and you feel a shiver run down your spine, the same one that thrilled you earlier.

“Uh.” You lick your lips and _fuck_ you wish you can say something other than ‘uh’ and ‘what’.

Mando takes another step towards you and you take another step back until you hit a solid wall. Your chest heaves silently as you watch him strut towards you.

It reminds you of when he’s on a job, stalking out his bounty. Of when a predator hunts its prey.

And Mando knows he has you exactly where he wants you and you hate yourself for how obvious you’re being about it.

“Don’t make me do it for you.”

The warning is true and harsh to your ears, but it’s also incredibly fucking hot, and it has your arousal seeping from your pussy, sticking uncomfortably to your panties.

“But I – I don’t –“

He doesn’t give you a chance to say your peace.

You gasp for air when he pushes you against the cold, unforgiving wall of the ship, wedging his knee between your legs.

Your hands scramble for placement, automatically gripping his biceps. You can hear his heavy breathing from underneath the helmet and your eyes flutter shut when your clothed heat presses against the cold plate on his thigh.

He puts more pressure against you, making you choke back a moan. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You want this.” He says, and it’s not a question.

He knows you fight him on a lot of things, but this won’t be one of them.

You don’t know what to do next, with Mando this close to you. You can see yourself on the reflection of his visor, mouth agape, eyes wild and cheeks flushed. It’s amazing, the effect he already has on you.

The heat that radiates off him makes your mouth salivate, the scent of him - a leather, spicy musk to him that carrasses your senses - intoxicates you, barreling you to a land of no return.

What did he want you to do again?

_Take off your clothes._

You want to but it’s like your brain has disconnected from your body and has left you physically frozen. His body visibly tenses at your fumbling form, so impatient unlike his usual self.

You know you have to move, to do _something_ that won’t make him any angrier and more frustrated than he already is.

At the same time, you’re eager to see what your defiance, intentional or not, will earn you.

“I think you want it more,” you murmur.

His head tilts to the side. His hands run up the length of your legs until they stop at your waist, giving you a small squeeze.

“You seem so sure of that.” He observes.

You hum in affirmation, not daring to look away from him. Your hips glide on the cold plate protecting his thigh, building a blazing symphony.

His gloved hands play with the hem of your simple shirt as he watches you get yourself off on him, toying with the small hole that’s been bugging you all day since you discovered it. 

_Riiip!_

Your shirt tears so easily under Mando’s strength. You gasp and gawk as you look down, seeing your shirt parted so your chest is open to him; your nipples automatically perk under the cool air, tits heaving as you rock your hips. 

You can’t hold back a moan this time when he palms your left breast, groping it to the point of discomfort. His other pointer finger circles over your right nipple, teasing the erect bud.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “You enjoy this. Enjoy me _hurting_ you. Using you like a _toy_.”

Your mind goes to bite back at him, but your body cannot function when he pinches your nipple and twists _just_ slightly, enough for your hips to spasm. He lifts his leg a few inches higher until you’re practically on the tip of your toes, holding onto his shoulders for support. 

“Yeah, you like this.” It’s breathy, shallow as he works his thigh under you.

You moan again and you wish that you were kissing him right now, feeling his mouth on your hot body, running your fingers through his hair, feeling his bare skin against yours.

He stops moving and for a split second you’re afraid that he somehow read your thoughts.

“You keep your eyes up and in front of you. I will stop if you don’t and I’ll have you off this ship before you can even blink. Do you understand?”

It scares you, but the way he says it, that calm, warning tone, has your pussy _clenching_. 

You nod your head, then quickly, “Yes, I understand.”

Mando moves his leg down and before you can register the loss you’re spun around, face being pressed back into the wall.

You hear the shuffle of armor and something small clanging to the floor. You automatically go to look behind you before you remember his threat.

_Let’s not ruin a good thing because you get fucking curious._

You jump when you feel his arms wrap around you, fumbling with the button of your pants. It’s really hard not to look down.

He wastes no time in pulling your pants down your legs, keeping them at your ankles with your shoes still on. You decide against kicking them off, too enamored with this turn of events.

“Arch your back,” he commands. His voice is still filtered.

You do as he says, placing your hands on the wall to steady yourself.

Kriff this is really happening.

He roughly kicks your legs as far apart as they can go. Your body is flushed, quivering with anticipation, aching for him to fill you.

But Mando just. Stands. There. Smoothing his hand up and down the expanse of your inner thigh, kneading the sensitive molds near your pussy. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and he sucks in a breath at your body’s response.

You gasp when you feel a calloused, smooth pad trailing up your slit. He circles your entrance before slipping his finger in, curling as he pushes through. You fight to keep your head up, biting down harshly on your lip, a small whine buried in your throat.

If one of his fingers is enough to have you trembling and your entire cunt pulsing with need, you’re _not_ going to make it through the rest of his assault. It’s a promise you’re anxious to meet.

“I did that to you?”

He removes his finger just as quickly as he inserted it, gathering your juices before pulling back. You go to answer him, but then you hear him rub his cock with your slickness, grunting softly as he does.

It makes you want to lick it off him.

The dirty, filthy thought of tasting him brings your mind to another blank. You wiggle your ass as you wait, trying desperately to ignore the urge to rub your thighs together, anything to appease the burning ache coursing through you.

He gives your ass a swift slap and you cry out, gripping the corner of the wall tighter.

“Stop moving.”

You feel the tip of his head against your folds and _fuck_ he’s big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had and you swear he will tear you apart right here without a care in the world.

“Mando,” you say in a breathless whine. “Mando you gotta be careful. You’re…”

You trail off, suddenly too embarrassed despite the fact that you’re half naked against the wall with the Mandalorian’s dick trying to fit in you.

He doesn’t stop, only sliding the tip to your clit, rubbing against it. You close your eyes and moan, stomach clenching as your nerves bolt with ecstasy.

“Say it,” he says. “Finish what you were going to say.”

You don’t want to finish it because he already knows, and he just wants you to feed his fucking ego.

“ _Fucker_ ,” you growl. “You’re too _big_. Just take it easy on me, okay? It’s… it’s been a while.”

He huffs, and you think that’s the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever gotten from him and then he’s _sloooooowly_ pushing into you.

And _kriff_ he feels impossibly bigger inside you.

He’s only got a few inches of himself in and your cunt is already pulsing around him, feeling so full and struggling to accommodate him.

“Just this once.” Mando grunts, placing his hands on your hips, gripping them to the point where you know you’re going to be wearing his handprints for days.

“Just this once.” It comes out as a whisper this time, almost as if it’s just for _him_ to hear.

It still makes your heart drops in disappointment.

Because yeah, you understand that he’s not looking for anything that can turn serious or complicate his oath to the Child. But if this is how he makes you feel, already a dripping, moaning mess at his feet? Like you’re on a cloud made of familiar leather and powder and heavenly masculinity?

You want _more_ of it.

Now is not the time to dwell on your dejection. Not when he starts to push in again and all your thoughts are dissipated as you feel your walls continue to stretch around him. It’s still difficult and you let out a small yelp.

It’s enough for him to stop, only a few inches away from being completely buried to the hilt. He could still move if he wanted to, it’s in enough, but your muscles are still wired and tense, and your velvet walls won’t stop constricting in pain around him.

You know he’s clenching his teeth when he says your name, running a hand to your front, ghosting his hands over your breasts.

“You need to relax,” he hisses. “Just breathe.”

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, closing your eyes and focusing on unwinding your muscles.

You feel his hand snake down from your breasts, over your stomach, and to your bundle of nerves. He wastes no time in putting pressure on your clit, making you jolt.

“Open up for me, let _me_ in.”

It’s pure primal the way he purrs into your ear as he starts to ease more of him into you, rubbing your clit harder.

By the time he’s finally fully connected to you you’re panting heavily against the wall, toes curling as you feel him poke at your cervix.

He swivels his hips as he allows you to adjust and a shallow whimper tears from your chest.

“Stars,” you groan. “Mando move, _please_.”

He still circles your clit when he pulls back just to slam right back into you, knocking the air right out of you. The force of it almost makes your head bang against the frame.

His other hand plants itself firmly on your hip and lets you breathe for another moment before pulling back out lazily and your legs start to tremble when he pushes himself all the way back in, this time a little harder.

“ _Kriff_ you feel good,” he grumbles. “This pussy can take _me_.”

You preen at his words, jaw loose as you take everything he gives you. The pain is starting to dull and the glaze of pleasure starts to burn you from the core, a delicious burn that has you jerking in his hold.

You can’t move, completely powerless as he fucks you. It’s animalistic, the way he manhandles you, drives himself deeper into you, and it makes your eyes roll in the back of your head just thinking about the sheer vulnerability of it; allowing yourself to be used in such a way, by _him_ at that.

“Should’a done this s-sooner.” It blurts out of you without a second thought, and you’re afraid it’s going to make him stop.

It doesn’t, not even a flinch, continues slow but hard, savoring the feeling of your tight walls against his cock. By doing so you can feel every detail of his thickness, the veins that pulse and scratch against you, twitching when your pussy walls grab him like a vice, sucking him in.

He takes his hand away from your swollen clit and you want to pull his hand back, almost gathering the guts to do it. Instead you cry out when he buries his hand in your hair, fisting it so hard that it stings; you find that you like the pain.

Mando grunts and pants behind you, but is otherwise quiet when you feel him palm at your ass cheeks, spreading them to watch his dick disappear into your cunt, slicker every time; you can hear the squelches each time your pussy takes him.

“S-shit Mando,” you groan. “St-ars you –“

“You can be so damn _annoying_ ,” he interjects, grunting through each word with precise thrusts. “A-all week just - shit - just picking at me, _teasing_ me.”

Honestly, you have no idea on how you’ve been teasing the man. Or just how long you have _been_.

“You can be annoying too,” you’re able to push out through the haze. “Piss m-mhhhm _kriff_ – me off too.”

You want to say more, just to egg him on, but he stops you from being able to produce a _word_ when he pistons his hips into yours, bringing you to every thrust with steel grips. It brings speckles of color behind your lids, the flame in your body turning you to ash.

“Yeah _little girl_? That what you think? Is that what I do to you?”

The endearment, no matter how bitter it may be, has you shivering and choking on a wail that wants to escape from your esophagus.

You can feel his balls slapping against your ass, your juices sticky and dripping on your thighs, on _him_. The air from your lungs barely makes it through your throat and it only adds to the euphoria you can’t escape, even if you _wanted_ to.

Another slap to your ass brings you back to him, has you screaming his name into the hull of the ship.

He quickly slaps his hand over your mouth without slowing his hips, drilling into you as he pulls your head back and hisses in your ear, “Be. Quiet.”

You nod your head through the tears that leak out of the corner of your eyes. His hand moves itself from your mouth and to your throat, giving an experimental squeeze. Your mouth hangs open as you take a deep inhale, feeling your cunt spasm when he clenches harder.

Every nerve within you shoots with liquid fire when he plunges faster, and you know he’s close when he lets out his own guttural moans; not nearly as equal as the crescendo’s falling from your lips but it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“You needed this,” he whispers in your ear. “M-me fucking you so hard, _splitting_ you.”

For someone who only wants this to be a one-time thing, he sure is talking like there’s more to come. And it leaves you wondering just how long _he’s_ wanted this.

You’re selfish. You want more. Want to feel the scrape of his teeth against your neck, the press of his lips on your skin.

“Can – c-can you –”

“No,” he growls.

You don’t take it personally. It was a longshot anyways.

“Look at all that coming out of you. _I_ did that to you. _Stars_ you – you’re taking me so well, _so_ good. This pussy will _never_ be the same after me.”

That last part gets you whining and writhing under him, still struggling to breathe as he continues his assault on you.

The pressure is suffocating, bringing you to the edge of a cliff, just waiting to dive and _shit_ he’s right _there_ –

“Oh!” You keen loudly, curving your back more until your head is practically sitting on his shoulder, pinching your face in ecstasy.

“I found it huh?” He gloats, shifting his feet to angle his hips against that spot inside you that is just nothing short of heaven, or whatever the hell is out there in the galaxy.

It hurts, kriff it _hurts_ but it’s the most delicious pain you’ve ever encountered, and you know Mando is the only one who can give it to you.

“Y-yess,” you breathe. “Oh _shit_ yes right there Mando, keep going.”

He obliges with no complaint, spewing out a growl that shoots straight to your pussy.

_“Shit!”_

His hips stammer, losing their rhythm as he feels your hot walls flutter around him. The hand that was on your throat slams against the wall beside you, pressing himself against you so tightly that your body is completely trapped behind the cold, warm bite of his durasteel and the ship.

“You’re squeezing me so – _nghgg_ – so fucking _tight_.”

You babble incoherently back, harsh gasps escaping you with every rough thrust. Every loud slap that echoes across the ship has your entire body shaking, begging, praying, willing for your desperate release to sweep over you. The seizing of your lower stomach has become _torturous_ in its burn, raw and inflamed but it only makes you gurgle a moan that has Mando moaning sinfully in your ear; he presses up against you until you’re sure you’re going to pass out, the edges of his helmet digging into your shoulder, like he’s trying to _mold_ himself into you.

“Oh Mando please, _please_.” You don’t know what you’re trying to tell him at this point.

You can barely stand on your feet and your cunt is gushing and quaking around him and _maker_ he’s so warm, and he’s getting louder and –

His finger rubs your clit again and you’re a goner. A strangled moan is the only sound that can escape from your convulsing body, cunt fluttering sporadically _hard_ around him, shuddering against him as you milk him with everything you got.

“ _There_ it is pretty girl. There it is.” He groans, jarring and _husky_.

His hips slams against yours and it’s so fucking loud, it’s a no wonder the kid has woken up yet.

“C – oh _kriff_ ,” you sob. “C-cum – _uh_ – cum in me.”

“ _Pretty_ girl. You –“

Mando roars and gives you one last hard _ram_ that has your hand slipping from the sheen sweat that gathered from your tight grip and the only thing you think to grab on is his –

“Stop!”

But it’s too late and your hand slaps against his wrist that’s right next to your face.

You can barely blink and he’s got his hand wrapped around your eyes, yanking your head back. You feel an intense, blaring heat barely brush against your hair before it’s being whipped away from you.

There’s a loud curse from Mando and a deafening roar before it’s silenced. It all happens so fast and you pant heavily as you try to register on what just happened.

Then it hits you. He still has all his armor on.

Which means his vambrance was still on his wrist. The same wrist _you_ grabbed.

“ _Shit_ Mando I’m so sorry.” You blubber out.

He says nothing, breathing just as heavily as you are, the lower half of his body still pressed to yours and giving out slow, small thrusts; it’s almost like he just can’t _help_ himself, despite of the sudden attack (for lack of a better term).

It’s quiet, and you realize he might be listening out for the Child, making sure he’s still asleep. You both sigh in relief when you hear nothing.

He removes his hand from your eyes, pushing your face back into the direction of the gray walls.

It gives you a chance to start to feel your limbs again, trembling under the weight of him; you’re pretty sure you can feel his cum dribbling on your thighs, mixed with your own.

There’s so _much_.

What really gets you though, other than the copious amount of cum that just came out of him, is the fact that you just got fucked by a _Mandalorian_ , one of the fiercest ones in the galaxy. _Your_ Mandalorian.

And you just nearly set yourselves on fire.

A giggle bubbles up your throat and past your lips before you can stop it, like a wisp of air. It gets even hysterical when you imagine him still holding his arm up, trapped in a state between orgasmic bliss and shock.

Mando still hasn’t pulled away from you as you laugh. You don’t want him too.

“What’s so funny?” He asks gruffly. “Almost _burning_ us and the ship?”

You start to calm from your hysterics, a few escaping before you sigh heavily with a slump to your body.

“Y-yeah, I guess. It’s just… everything.”

You don’t have to elaborate for him to understand what you’re saying.

You feel him knead your ass checks with a soft moan, watching his cock pull out of you. You whimper at the loss of being so full, your pussy clenching almost as if to pull his cock back. It almost makes you laugh again, but you’re able to hold in it this time.

Maybe it’s just from the mind-blowing orgasm you just received.

More of his cum drips out of you, some even falling to the ground with a soft splat and it makes you wonder just how _much_ he had in him, pent up and ready to explode.

Both of you dress silently. It’s more of a struggle for you, and you look down at your torn shirt, still magically holding on to your slick skin.

There’s a tap on your shoulder, and you turn around to see Mando holding up a shirt silently to you.

With how he looks now, you wouldn’t believe he just got done fucking someone. It slightly makes you jealous.

The visor watches you as you discard your shirt and pull on the other, leaning against the wall for support.

“Are… are you alright?”

It comes out awkward, like he’s not used to asking.

“Yeah,” you whisper softly. “I um… enjoyed that. Very much.”

You hope your boldness didn’t scare him as you watch him slowly nod.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull himself up to the cockpit. You know not to take it personally, but it still sends an ache through your heart.

 _We probably just fucked everything up._

Sighing, you grimace as you feel the evidence of your tryst drying on your thighs. Your pussy throbs - an ache you know you’re gonna feel for _days_ \- and you know there’s bruises on your body where he touched you, held you. It’s the only sign otherwise of what he did to you.

That and the fact that you take one step and your legs fall out from under you.

“Woah!” You gasp, gripping onto the edge of the cot in your bunk before you can fall flat on your face.

You gently sit down on the poor excuse of a bed, careful of the dull ache between your legs. Running a hand through your hair, you think about how you’re going to make it to the fresher when you remember what he said before.

That one promise, or whatever you can call it, that replays over and over in your head.

_Just this once._


	2. Scraped Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pinning that was bound to come.

Two weeks.

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three-hundred and thirty-six hours, twenty-thousand, one-hundred and sixty minutes, and one million, two-hundred and nine thousand, six hundred seconds. 

Yeah, you did the math. Suffered through the entire formidable ordeal just because you have to be extra dramatic. 

Because he’s fucking _killing_ you. 

Absolutely and irretovitically making you suffer until you’re nothing but ashes at his feet. 

Not in the physical sense of course—well, not in such a sense that it’ll _literally_ kill you—but this causes for dramatics. 

Dramatics when Mando can barely even look at you now, only giving you small, almost _shy_ glances as you parade around each other. 

When you lie awake at night, tracing your fingers over the flesh of your hips, imagining they were his. Tracing the light, healing bruises from his hands. 

Most nights, the dreams that plague you are filled with his moans—it’s hard to imagine them unfiltered as you so desperately seek, seeing as you never heard it before, but you try—and his long, thick cock filling you again and again and again until you’re a whimpering, dripping mess. You wake up panting and sweating, and the only way to appease the burning ache between your legs is to slip your hand down your panties, rubbing your clit furiously as the images play through until you cum; you hate that it doesn’t do nearly as much justice to your wanting pussy as he does it. 

_“This pussy will never be the same after me.”_

He was sure as fuck right about that. 

And it’s not like you can just walk up to him and say ‘hey Mando, looks like we’re right back where we started, so let’s just cut to the chase and fuck it out again’. Well, you _could_ but— 

_Just this once._

Mando sticks true to them. It hurts your feelings and takes you back to feeling like a little lovesick teenager. It leaves a sourness that’s equally pestering and _consuming_. 

There’s these little moments though where your suspicions and internal dilemmas thrive from. Like when you catch him whipping his head away from the corner of your eyes when you turn. Or sometimes when it takes a moment of hesitation for him to leave the room after announcing his leave. 

That makes you sure, _positive_ , that there’s something there. It can’t just be you. 

But it could and that fucking terrifies you. And the worst part of it all? You’re not exactly sure on where all of this is coming from—before, you didn’t think much of Mando pushing past the simple barriers of your friendship, _not_ to say that you didn’t have your fantasies then. That’s all they were: _fantasies_. 

What made Mando cave? How long had he been thinking about you up until that moment?

It makes your head hurt. Not knowing. 

The Child sits in front of you on the floor, playing with that shiny ball. You used to hear Mando sigh every time the kid reached for it, and eventually he gave up completely on trying to put the damn thing back on. You suspect that there may be a deeper meaning behind it when he lingers above him, watching the Child chew curiously around the metal; you don’t question it. 

There’s a loud curse followed by a bang that makes you and the baby jump. You and the Child give each other a scared but curious look. You know it’s Mando coming back from a job, and you know that by the tone of his voice and the crashes that resonate through the ship that he did not capture the quarry. 

It sends a thrill through you, a thrill derived from stupid, simple fear of the unknown, of the expectancy, and all you can smell is leather and powder and—

“Has he eaten?” 

You blink lazily—much to your surprise—through your lust filled haze and peer up at his towering form. He’s tense, even you can see that through the layers and layers of clothing that prevents you from touching his warm, hot skin and—

Now you really need to stop. 

Mando is standing there, waiting patiently for your answer despite how angry he is and you _wish_ that he would just lose his composure like last time, thrust you against the wall (the floor preferably) and—

_Enough!_ You scold yourself. 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, he has. Nothing big but—” You shrug your shoulders, moving to stand up. 

“What happened?” You ask him, stretching your arms over your head with a weak yawn. Your shirt drags up a bit from the movement, making you shiver when a slight chills touches you. There’s a small noise, and you look down at the Child to make sure he’s okay; he’s quiet as quiet can be, watching the interaction above him. 

“We’re leaving.” He all but growls before stalking to the pilots seat, plopping down with a light form but a heavy sigh. 

You furrow your brows. “Where are we off to now?”

“Cantonica.” He says. 

You nod and grab the child, sitting down on the seat next to Mando’s and letting the baby play in your lap. Throughout the time you’ve been travelling with him, it’s still sorta fascinating to you when you watch him work the buttons and levers of his ship. It’s ridiculous, but entertaining and fulfilling, anyway. You kick your feet boorishly as Mando flies you off the dreadful planet, and you’re trying to fight the urge to question him on what happened because you know it’s only going to annoy him. But the _temptations_ , they’re right there in your reach, teasing you just like _he_ is without even knowing it. 

A thought occurs to you: does he know _exactly_ what he's doing? Is he fully aware of the full effect he has on you still? Is he just dragging your pain, your horniness, your _everything_ , just to watch you squirm and cry until you _beg_? Could he be that sadistic?

Maybe. Possibly. 

“Sleep.” Mando suddenly says, startling you. “I’ll take care of everything here. Rest now so I can before we reach Cantonica.”

You nod. Any other time, you’d argue with him until one of you gave in, but you’re too exhausted—mentally and emotionally more than physically—and you don’t want to deal with your thoughts anymore. 

“Be good.” You tell the little womp rat, who just smiles at you in return. 

You turn around with a small groan as the bones in your body crack—you really need to get out more—and the sad excuse for a bed will not help you either. As you start to walk away, an uneasy feeling falls on you; like you’re being watched.

_Don’t look back don’t look back don’t look back._

It doesn’t take a lot to reach the ladder, but it feels like miles and every step is faster than the next, a scurry from the rejection you’ve conjured in your head. Your hands slip slightly against the bars as you scurry down, but you still can’t look up. 

Surprisingly, you don’t completely slip and fall down the few inches or so to the ground. You land heavily on your feet and trudge towards your bunk, almost like a child throwing a fit. You know you’re being silly irrational, but there was nothing _irrational_ about the fact that your relationship with the Mandalorian has officially changed and you have to face the consequences of it. The _inevitable_. 

“Perfect.” You mutter under your breath. 

Forcing your eyes shut, you try to clear your tired mind from the raging thoughts buzzing around your brain; like pesky little insects that just won’t go away. 

_Buzz._ He’s probably going to ask you to leave at some point. _Buzz._ You were just a one time fuck. _Buzz._ You’re never going to find anyone else, and it’s all because of him. _Buzz._

You groan loudly in frustration, flipping and flopping around on the cot until you finally tire yourself out, and you feel the onsets of sleep envelop you. 

–

It’s been hours since Mando fell asleep. The Child is asleep as well, and though the peace and quiet _is_ nice, it’s also a little unnerving when you’re the only one in the room, and the worst of it is that you know why. 

“I hate him.” You whisper, running a hand through your hair. 

You also hate your bladder. You don’t want to get up from the chair—you’re more than used to the arm rest digging into your back—and more importantly, you don’t want to wake the kid or Mando. 

You get up when the pain becomes too much for you to hold and wobble your way as quietly as you can to the fresher; you can see from the stars blasting by but when you get down the ladder it’s much easier said than done with the lack of lighting in the dark ship. 

You bump into a few small items lying around but miraculously you don’t trip or fall over anything and are just reaching the door when you hear a small noise from your right. You immediately recognize it from Mando’s bunk.

_Walk away._ You think to yourself. _Right now._

Your hand still rests on the doorway but your feet are frozen, refusing to move from their spot. Your ears perk for more with an held breath; your heart starts to stutter and the blood rushes to your face, giving your cheeks a crimson burn. 

Another sound radiates from the solid door that separates you from… whatever has Mando making a fuss. You tip-toe forward to try and hear better, holding your breath again as your upper body leans in. 

It’s louder this time, not by much, but it’s easier to decipher. And it’s a sound that still rings new and beautiful in your ears, that has your body trembling and pussy wetting in an instant. 

You close your eyes, mentally count to ten, and try to will yourself to walk away and to forget you ever heard it. It seems—even unknowingly—that Mando still finds a way to crawl under your skin and bury himself further into your every thought because the next sound he makes is a fucking _whimper_ ; a sweet, almost coo that knocks a shuddering breath from your nose. You refuse to open your mouth because if you do, you don’t trust yourself _not_ to make a sound of your own to match his. 

And it hits you: it sounded different from when he fucked you. Unfiltered and _lighter_ than the robotic tone you’re used to hearing. 

Stars, Maker above, this is going to be your death. 

_This is wrong._

But, as you said before, he’s killing you. And this? This is your cure, your lifeline or whatever you want to call it. And it’s the reason why you quickly rush to the fresher and stick your hand down your pants; you already find yourself wet and open, and it annoys you that he can still do that to your pussy without so much as touching you. He’s on the other side of that door. 

You gasp silently when your finger meets your swollen—mainly engorged from the amount of times you _have_ touched yourself thinking of him—eager clit. You listen for any more of those sweet sounds, but there’s a very low chance of you not being able to hear much through these barriers, not without at least opening the fresher door. So you make do with your vivid imagination with the exception of the new sound you now know Mando is capable of making. Your feet tumble over each other as you back into the poor excuse of a sink, rubbing at a furious pace, trying to finish as quickly as possible. 

With the stress washing away with every quick pulse through your cunt and the relief you’re starting to feel, you’re already close. 

Closer, as his hands grip your hips. Closer, as he manhandles you to his pleasing. Closer, as you feel his muscles clenching with every rough thrust into you. Closer, as you scream his name, feel your stomach tighten just like that and he’s grunting—

Suddenly there’s a soft _whoosh_. Your eyes pop wide open in shock and fear, your hand freezing in its ministrations, and you realize by the scratchiness of your throat that your little whines have been escaping your lips. Soft steps prod against the floor, and if it weren’t for your still chest, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it at all. They stop once they realize the door’s closed, and you close your eyes to think of something to say if he actually knocks on that door, and stars above this heat of passion, the one that throws all logic and sense out the door, wants him to come barreling through that door and finish what you (or he?) started. _Dares_ him even. 

You know he’s not going to say anything. Or knock on the door. He may just stand there for a second, but upon realizing it’s occupied he’ll walk right back into his bunk and not bother until he hears your footsteps on that ladder. You should stop and just pee like you were supposed to—but you can hear him stir and you don’t think before the soft moan breathes from your lips. 

You hear him stop, and you can only manage a little smirk when your fingers rub against your nerves, dipping down to your gaping entrance to gather your juices; how are you already so fucking wet?

Another faint noise. You can’t tell if it’s close or far away. 

What he was doing wasn’t a personal attack towards you, you know that. Yet that rebellious, _angry_ spark lights up within you. Something akin to primal, you guess you could say. 

You let out a soft hum, all whiny and pitched. Nothing. 

You keep moving but don’t let out any other noise, intent on his reaction. Nothing. 

Your stomach drops in disappointment. Maybe he already walked back to the safety of his bunk. Maybe he never came out at all and you’re just imagining this for your perfect little game. But you can’t stop now as your pussy flutters around nothing and your legs are trembling as you struggle to keep up. Your mouth opens in a silent cry as you finally feel that release, feel your pussy flood and stomach ease from its tension. 

You try to breathe as silently as you can, but it’s useless to even try; the damage has already been done. You whisk your hand from your panties and stumble to the toilet. When you’re done and you’ve made sure it’s clear, you slip out and don’t even try to peek when you rush up to the cockpit. 

–

“But—”

“No.”

“It could work and—”

“No.”

“ _Stop_ interrupting me!”

Mando stays silent after your outburst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and exhale. 

“ _Look_ ,” you start. “Last time you lost the quarry because of your _highly_ noticeable and _highly_ shiny armor that can only mean _one_ damn thing, Mando! We could really use the credits and I mean _c’mon_ , when have I ever let you down?”

His arms stand at his sides as he sizes you up and down. You feel feeble and small with him staring at you like this. Like when he’s pressed up against you or when—

“I’ll be careful.” You promise. “It’s not like she’s some assassin or something.”

“Could be.” He grumbles. “Could be just as dangerous as I am.”

“Or more.” It comes out softly, with a subtle lick of your lips. “But I can take it.”

You watch each other silently. A pin could drop below and you’d be able hear it.

The muscles in your body strain to move, to jump in his arms and have him ravish you all over again. But you stay perfectly still and watch him. He takes a step forward and you fight the urge to take one back. This time, you want to step up to the challenge he presents. Want to prove that there’s not a part of you that’s scared of him, of what he’s capable of. That you’re just as equal as he is. 

“You sure you can?” Mando asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question hung up in the air for you to stutter over; it’s more of a curious statement, like he wants to hear you say yes; you wonder if he’s thinking of last night, too, if he _was_ there. Or two weeks ago. 

You swear that this is it. This is where he breaks his promise and any vow he may have made to himself in regards to _you_. You almost feel bad for being the little tease that you are being—a territory you never ventured until you met Mando. 

Almost. 

You don’t want him to hate you. Or to blame you in any way for breaking him down. The need is too strong to outweigh your logical, sober self. Your whole body is lit with a fire too bright to drown. 

One…two…three… _four_ …

_Beep!_

It’s loud and obnoxious and scares you out of your trance. You turn around to glare at what just ruined your moment. You’re here. 

A sigh runs through your open mouth. Mando continues to stand, but this time you see the inclations of a twitch in his fingers that matches the ones in his legs. You decide to ignore it. 

“I’ll be okay.” You promise again. “You’ll be right there on the other side, waiting. What could possibly go wrong?”

A stupid thing to say you realize, but it slips out in hopes that he’ll finally relent. 

“Fine.” He says curtly. “Get ready.”

He doesn’t wait for your response. There’s a flash of his cape and then you blink and he’s already down the ladder. 

So this should be… interesting.

You follow behind not that long after. You decide on whether you should wear a different attire for this ’kind of’ solo mission, but the simple shirt and pants win in the end; it’s the only articles of clothing you really have, anyways. As soon as you’re secure and set up, you open the ramp and give Mando a tight smile and begin your walk to the cantina your quarry is currently in. A meeting of some kind you were told.

The walk there is relaxing, actually. As much as you’ve been craving the Mandalorian, it’s nice not to bear the reminder of your predicament. The air is warm, but cool as night starts to fall. Your com sparks in a light static, making you sigh. It better not be broken.

You slip into the cantina, where all eyes immediately fall on you. Once they get a good view of you, they return back to whatever they were doing, yet it still has you in jitters from it. 

The tracker is silent as you walk through, finding an empty seat at the bar. The room is crowded, but not too crowded to the point of suffocation much to your relief; despite the many criminals that sit in this room and the fact that you’re on a job right now, the setting around you gives off a calming aroma. 

You order a drink for yourself in order not to arouse suspicion. It smells fruity of some sorts, but oddly enough tastes sweet, like candy; it’s not the best combination for you, but the alcohol—very light amounts of it, mind you—is what counts. 

Taking a peek around as you sip, you start to notice that your bounty is nowhere in sight. You really, really hope she’s still around. 

The com crackles again, but softer than before. You’ll look at it later. 

Many new and foreign faces walk in and out of the cantina as the sun goes down and never a beep from your tracker or your com. You’re on your second drink, taking a lap around, when you finally give up on it and hand the bartender your credits. Just as you're about to get up and go look for Mando, a hand stops you. 

You whip around with no warning, a hand on your thigh, ready to grab your blaster.

“Woah!” A man says with his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy there. My apologies, did’t mean to startle ya.”

The smile he adorns after doesn’t relax you. Your eyes narrow with caution as he carefully and casually takes a seat at the empty stool beside you. 

“Ryn.” He introduces himself and orders a drink. 

You should really leave and find Mando. The quarry is more than likely out there getting away while you’re sitting here staring at this man— _Ryn_. 

“Business or pleasure?” Ryn asks. 

This is what you were afraid of. You're halfway off the seat, but are making no other attempts to get up like you originally intended. You should really go now. 

Ryn notices your hesitance with a side glance and sighs. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. It wan’t my intention.”

You continue to stare him down, trying to map out what his _real_ intentions are. He’s handsome enough: middle aged with speckled bits of grey in his dark hair, crows feet that, in your opinion, gives him a little extra beauty, pale skin that’s not too ivory and a drawl to his accent that is soothing to the ears. 

“Both.” You spew out. 

_What the hell are you doing?!?_

Ryn chuckles and takes a small gulp of his drink; it smells similar to yours. “Aren’t we all?”

For a moment you forget about the com on your wrist and the quiet statics it gives off. About the quarry that you’re currently losing and _Mando_. It’s a weird feeling to you. 

He smiles again, a kind, crinkled smile that brings a dimple to his right cheek, and this time you can’t help but settle into your seat with a small, mirrored smile of your own. One second, that’s all you need. 

“Yeah, well,” you laugh lightly. “S’hard to have one without the other.”

He chuckles again and it’s deep; the kind of throaty laugh that comes straight from the chest. “Another drink for my new friend here?”

_Go, go now. Tell him._

The bartender has your drink in front of you before you finish your thought. Ryn raises his cup and smirks. 

“To business and lost pleasures.”

That makes you grin. You raise your cup to his and clink it against his before gulping a good amount of it down in one go. You struggle not to sputter from the new raw and burning taste of this new drink, but it’s sweet and—eventually—soothing to your taste buds. 

“I never got your name.” He says after he slams his cup down. 

You tell him with little hesitance. You start to feel a little foggy from the drinks, but the room isn’t spinning and you can still think and speak coherently, so you’re doing something right in the middle of your wrongs. 

He tests it out, sounds it in his natural drawl with a tease. It gets your body reeling with a shimmer of mild to moderate interest, but it doesn’t have the same effect as _him_. 

“So,” he says with your name, almost as if you’ve been friends for years. “Please tell me if I’m being too bold, but you’re not er… you’re not with anyone are you?”

He sees the look on your face, eyes widening and your cheeks burning as you try to come up with an excuse, and quickly goes in for the save. “I-I mean if you have, ya know, anywhere’s to go. Wouldn’t mind the company.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you were working right now and there was a very scary Mandalorian standing out there—wherever he may be at this point—you’d say no and stay. There’s something about Ryn that’s different to you—different from Mando. And a distraction doesn’t sound bad; he isn’t an awful one, not yet so far at least. Maybe you’ll convince Mando to stay a little longer.

You tuck your hair behind your ears and give him an apologetic smile. “I would, but—”

“She’s leaving.”

You and Ryn turn at the same time towards the intrusion. You stare in shock at Mando, who’s standing behind Ryn. Ryn glances between the two of you quizzically. 

Glaring at Mando, you look to Ryn and hope that he can read the sincere apology in your eyes. “I’m sorry. Business.”

He nods knowingly and raises his cup with a smile that does nothing to conceal the disappointment. 

“Farewell then, my lovely friend. Perhaps we’ll meet each other in another time and you can introduce me to your friend here.”

It’s a bold move and he knows it. Mando doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even glance Ryn’s way. He continues to watch you and doesn’t move to leave until you’re fully up and out of your chair. You can’t help but look back at Ryn, who, to your surprise, is looking right back at you. You wave him off before you’re out the door. 

The air now is chillier than before, but it still feels nice against your skin. You’re trying to analyze the level of anger Mando’s in by his body. His steps are quiet and his posture is… unrecognizable to you. You follow him blindly through the dark, barrign alleyways, wondering if this was just a short cut of his or if he’s gotten a lead on the bounty. He stops at a seemingly dead end, nothing but walls surrounding from besides the long, narrow trail that leads back to the main area. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, hands on your hips for emphasis. 

“The quarry?” He growls, tilting his head to the side so you can see a sliver of the visor. 

You close your eyes and sigh, arms sliding limply by your sides. “I know I’m sorry.” You groan. “The tracker was going off when I reached the cantina and then it was just gone. I stayed to see if she would come back or if she was around the area but—”

“But you decided to get drunk and throw yourself at the first man that gave you the slightest bit of attention.”

This takes you back. You gape and sputter like you’ve had the air knocked out of you, making him turn around at your silence. 

As soon as he faces you, your disbelief turns into anger. 

“First of all,” you seethe, pointing your finger at him. “I am _not_ drunk! _Second_ of all I was about to leave when he stopped me to say hello and yeah, I indulged myself for a second of friendly chat and I know it was wrong to do and I’m _sorry_.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “She was supposed to be here for a meeting, I waited around to see if I could snag her and she must have just… gotten away.” You throw your hand awkwardly in the air for emphasis. 

You trail off into silence. You don’t even know what else to say. Yeah, you fucked up on this one and it can cost dearly, and you _know_ that. 

“I got her.” The modulator cracks. 

Your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion. “What?”

“The quarry.” He grunts. “I found her leaving just as you walked in. Went through the back before you even stepped in. I tried to tell you through the com, but I’m assuming yours needs to be looked at.”

You dumbly look down at your wrist, nodding your head in affirmation. Right. How long were you in there for?

“And she’s at the Crest?” You ask. 

“Frozen.”

“And the kid?”

“Safe.”

You nod again. It’s like for a second, you forget why Mando dragged you out here in the first place, just relieved at the news; a clear warning on needing improvement in the skills of bounty hunting. 

The chill in the breeze that sways through your hair is the reminder. It raises goosebumps on your arms, but it’s nothing. Nothing compared to the way you’re awkwardly waiting for something to happen. 

“Okay.” You say, surprisingly calm and collected despite the pounding of your heart against your chest.

He rolls his neck, just a stretch to take a quick scope of the area. That there is enough for your legs to press tightly together.

Mando must sense it because the next thing you know he’s up in your face, using his body to push you until you're up against the wall. 

The few seconds you lost in a blink of an eye from his sudden attack has you gasping against the beskar pressed heavily into you. _Yes._

“Is this what you wanted?” It’s faint, but you can hear his ragged pants and _fuck_ it’s getting your stomach knotted in coils of liquid fire and your pussy is preparing to throw itself into the flames. 

You can feel him hardening against you. Like a magnet to his dick, you try to grind yourself against him, wanting to hear that sweet coo you heard the other night; _you_ want to be the one to drag it out from him. 

“You wanted this,” he repeats in a huff, wedging his knee between your legs; you spread them with zero hesiation. “Didn’t.” He punctuates this with a heavy hard thrust against your clothed core. You gasp loudly enough that it echoes. “You.” 

This is like the first time all over again. He’s redured you of speech, has you reduced to a puny puddle at his every word, every touch. 

Mando doesn’t wait for your answer. “Eavesdropping like a bad girl.” _Stars_. “Getting yourself off at the sound of my pleasure. Imagining it’s my fingers gliding into that beautiful pussy, my cock filling you.”

The words come out quiet so only the two of you can hear, but _kriff_ that only makes it ten times hotter. Your leg props up instantly around his hip, and your hands—gripping his biceps since he grabbed you—squeeze until a grunt runs ragged from his mouth. 

“Y-yes.” You whisper bodly. 

One of his hands slide up your raised thigh before resting on your waist. The other palms your breast, your chest automatically bowing to his touch, and roughly slides up to wrap those skillful fingers around your throat. You’ve seen that very hand _kill_ someone, and it’s around your throat now. _Fuck_. He squeezes once, a test, a question. You bare your neck to him. 

Your compliance makes him suck in a breath. Mando closes the very little distant between you and rolls his hips against yours again. You moan wantonly, grinding against his thrusts. It’s not enough and yet it’s _everything_ ; you’re so neglected, so trapped in your own lustful cloud, that you’ll do anything— _anything_ —to have these moments with him and more again and again until— 

“Kriff you’re s-so needy.” Mando voices, then whispers, “Pretty girl.”

Oh there it is. That sweet endearment that’s both cute _and_ sexy; that makes you preen into his every whim, that makes your entire core shudder with a feverish desire you can only describe as _pitiful_. 

Your eyes roll in the back of your with a forced out whimper. Your lower half hangs off the wall, using him as leverage to continue the frustrating friction against your pussy. 

He stops. 

You can barely keep your eyes all the way open, looking at him through slits. His hand presses harder against your throat and the most obscene moan you were about to let out becomes lodged in his grip. You try to move your hips but a hard pressure keeps them still. 

“Gonna let me fuck you here, where anyone can see?” He growls. 

Your eyes tear at the humiliating, filthy words and the nod is quick and hurried. He releases you and sets you down on your feet, working on his pants; you can see the outline of his cock and your cunt hums. 

“Please.” You say breathlessly. “Let me—” 

You reach your hands out slowly, though there’s still not much space between the two of you; _magnets_. His hands stop in their movements, working on the last button, and he watches you carefully as you put your hands over his. 

“Let me taste you.” 

Everything stops. You even stop breathing. Afraid that you’ve said the wrong thing, or that you’ve pushed it too far past his limitations. 

_Kriff you’ve done it again._

“I’m sor—”

“On your knees.”

Oh you swear you’re on cloud nine. You’ve died, and this is your afterlife, and fuck if this is not the _dream_. 

“Do I have to tell you twice?” 

It’s a threat you don’t want to know the consequences of—not until you’ve at least gotten a taste of him. You fall to your knees, too harshly for the cold, hard concrete, but right now it’s the least of your concerns; scraped knees, another mark to remember this by. 

Mando moves his hands away so you can finish unbuttoning him. Your nimble fingers shake from the anticipation, and fumble with the annoying barrier in your way. When you finally see his pants slag you grin in triumph. 

You hesitate, though not in a bad way. He was very adamant about you seeing or touching any parts of his skin last time he fucked you, and now he’s letting you suck his dick. 

_Oh how things change so quickly._

It’s dark, too dark here to really get a good look at the sliver of skin protruding from his shirt. You can make out the trail of dark curls that trails down, and it makes you lick your lips and bite them at the sheer knowledge that you’re one step away from actually _touching_ him. 

Your name is grunted in the air, and you look up to see him looking down at you, trying to steady his breaths and clenching his fists. Taking mercy on him, you pull his pants down far enough for his throbbing member to spring from their confines. It bounces, the tip already leaking precum. 

He’s… _wow_. 

Without thinking your tongue darts out to catch a bead of it dripping from his cock. It falls on the tip of your tongue, the saltiness making you shiver. 

The groan that follows is angelic. You like the power you have over him right now, the way he’s letting you take control; you think it’s not going to last very long. 

You wrap your fingers around his girth, the tips of your fingers barely touching. He feels hot, velvety even, like a… like a smooth iron. It’s _amazing_ that he managed to fit that into you. 

But what’s really getting you going—maybe at an unhealthy level—is his skin against yours. 

That simple, human touch. Most common to others, almost lost and forgotten to the Mandalorian’s. And your Mandalorian. Your closed off, quiet Mando, is letting you reach another level of trust and intimacy that could break either one of you. 

The soft caress on your head makes you purr, like an obedient pet. _Maker_ you need to get a grip on yourself.

You shuffle closer to him and take the head into your mouth without a warning. Fuck you already love this. 

“ _K-kriff_.” He moans, placing his hand on the wall. 

You moan around him. He’s better than you ever imagined. The taste is immaculate in its salty, musky glory that is only your Mando. You hope you can get more of it after this. 

Opening your mouth wider, you slide your tongue down the underside of him as you manage to fit more of him in your warm cavern; you fist what you can’t fit, which is actually more than you care to admit. You completely enclose your lips around his shaft, earning a small sigh when you slide up. You slide back down slowly, enjoying the weight on your tongue. 

“S-su-ch a good mouth.” He whispers. “F-fucking _warm_.”

The words encourage you and you begin to bob your head faster. You want to take your time with him, but the alleyway in a criminal infested station is not the best place for a known and ruthless bounty hunter and his… friend. So you’re determined to tear his orgasm right out of him. There’s a brush of his gloves against your hair. That simply will not do. 

Mando groans when you lift off him with an obscene pop, gasping as saliva runs down your chin and your hand. You swallow thickly and reach for his hand, looking at the ‘T’ as you guide it to your head. He slowly grips a handful of your hair and you gasp at the experimental tug he gives you. 

“I-I won’t break.” You whisper hoarsely. You even move your hand away, inviting him. 

He wordlessly guides you back to his red hungry cock. You open your mouth and flatten your tongue, waiting for him. 

“I hope so.”

He thrusts his entire length in your mouth. You choke and gag around him, and it’s so obscene and filthy that you want to look around to make sure not one living thing has heard you. You hold on to his thighs, getting a good grip from behind where there’s no durasteel covering him and blink through the tears that start to form from the corner of your eyes. You’re definitely going to have a sore throat for days. 

But the way he moans when he hits the back of your throat, keeping your nose pressed against his curls for a few moments before pulling back out and thrusting back in is worth any pain you have to face. 

“M-my— _yes_ —my little tease.” He groans. 

You moan as if in agreement, swirling your tongue around him. He starts a steady pace, fucking your face in a line between rough and dare you say _caring_. 

“I-I bet that p-pussy is _soaking_ for me.” He croons. Your pussy flutters. “D- _dream_ about it.”

His words pleases you. It makes it harder to fight the urge to stick your hands down your pants and relieve the aching pain in your swollen clit. Right now, you want to focus on his pleasure. 

You hollow your cheeks and bob your head as much as you can against his grip with a slight swirl, circling the tip as you do. You feel every vein pulsing and jumping under your tongue, and with the way he’s panting and tightening the grip on your hair, you know he’s already close. 

“Pretty girl.” He whispers. “I’m gonna—c’mere.”

He tugs at your hair to get you up, but you quickly put your hand over his to stop him. Bleary tears blur your vision, but you can still make out his heavy shadow curling around you, tense and holding back. You give a small shake of your head and unwrap your hand from his leg to grab him again. 

“Y— _shit_ you really want this.” He moans. “Want my cum, r-right?”

You answer by licking his frenulum. You feel him become even more rigid as your tongue flutters around the head of his cock. You take him deeper into your mouth and flick your wrist faster around his shaft. 

“Y-yes. Yes _pretty girl_.”

_Stars_ you’re going to combust. The sounds coming from you as you bob your head faster and faster is dirty, embarrassing even and loud, too loud for any unwanted attention. But the way he keens and grabs your head with both hands to thrust in rhythm with your mouth throws all sense of virtue out in the wind; hell, it even makes you feel beautiful, _sexy_ , making him undone by your hands—or mouth you should say. 

His hips stutter, fighting to stay in this patient rhythm. Your hand ghosts over his pelvis, fingertips dancing along the lines of the hair that splayes around his shaft. 

Finally deciding to risk it all, you stick your hand down until you feel his balls. You gently cradle them, listening for his reaction—a husky growl followed by a curse—and squeeze them in your palm.

“M— _maker_ I’m cumming.” He growls. 

You hum around him and give him a powerful suck. His dick twitches and jumps in your mouth, and the only warning you receive is a choked, pained whimper before his cum shoots down your throat. 

It’s nothing short of a sweet explosion. That’s the only thing you can call it. 

There’s still just so _much_ of it. You choke and gag around the salty taste as you swallow what you can, but what doesn’t make it to your throat crowds around the inside of your cheeks until it’s seeping from your mouth, trailing with your spit down your chin. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Yes, exactly. _Fuck_. 

Mando keeps you molded against him for a few seconds before letting his hands fall from their place. A few strands of your hair are tangled in his fingers and he notices, softly wringing them out. You appreciate that and pop off him with a slurp, gulping. 

There’s a tilt under your chin, prompting you to look up. He’s trailing the tip of his finger around the corner of your mouth, gathering the drops of his essence that glimmers like a pearl in the moonlight. Your mouth automatically opens and he places his finger on your tongue. You close your mouth and swirl your tongue once around the dirty, leather glove; he takes a shuddering breath with a shiver and pulls his finger out, ignoring the trail of spit that follows. 

Like a spell broken from his release, you start to awaken to your surroundings. There’s voices from afar, but not too close, and you thank your every lucky star that no one saw you in this… compromising position, no matter how pleasing the idea is. Your knees are crying with numbing pain, your hair feels like a tattered mess, and when you go to stand up you nearly fall. 

Mando catches you, not even stumbling from your weight. You _oof_ as you make contact with the cold beskar, planting your hands on his chest to stand yourself up. 

Shit you’re really close to him. Like the tip of your nose is bumping against his visor kind of close. His arms are no longer around you now that you’ve regained your balance but neither of you make any attempts to move. Time seems slow here; not quite frozen, but on the verge of it, reserved for you _and_ Mando. 

It also seems like you’re always going to end up here. Not necessarily in the alleyway, but in this proximity, this… you can’t find the right words for it. A wall, the tension, the falling. It’s all here, sticking to you. 

You’re happy you managed not to set anyone on fire. 

“We’re going back to the ship.” He says. 

Your eyes fall just a little. The throbbing in your pussy is persistent, crying with need and sticking to your panties; a part of you wishes it was his cum instead. You nod anyway, backing away. 

He’s quiet and walks away. You take a slow and tentative step, just to ensure you’re not going to fall again—a skid mark across your face is a mark you don’t want to bare, not even for Mando. 

Okay. You didn’t fall. That’s good. Mando’s not that far ahead of you but you start to skip in your steps so you don’t fall behind. He’s still walking as he turns his head to say,

“I’ll take care of you on the ship.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch


	3. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando takes care of you like he said.

The world doesn’t want you to get laid. It’s the only explanation you have. **  
**

As soon as you made it back to the Razor Crest and tried to take off, it stuttered and groaned until there was smoke. You and Mando rushed to the source, and sure enough your fears were answered: you weren’t going to get fucked anytime soon.

You push up the filthy goggles so it rests on your forehead. It’s been at least two days, and you and Mando have been working tiredlessy on this fucking ship, while managing to actually find the parts you need _and_ jobs on top of that. This is easily one of the most frustrating weeks of your life. 

Covered in all types of soot and in desperate need for a shower, you just want to get this done as soon as you can. Your hand shuffles blindly next to you, feeling nothing but sand under your fingertips. “Where the f— _where_ did I put it.” 

A gray object is hovered in front of your face, close enough to make you cross-eyed. “Oh. Thanks.”

* * *

“Let me take over.” Mando says. 

You peer up at him from where you sit, cross legged, surrounded by tools and narrowing your eyes to escape the sun’s glare. 

“It’s fine.” You say. “I think I’m close to getting this fixed anyway.”

Mando knows his mechanics, and he’s been nothing but a help, but this is more your expertise than his. You appreciate it, but he’s only slowing you down. 

“Okay.” He awkwardly shifts his feet; a tick you think. “Do you… do you need anything?”

_Yeah. You._

“No.” You shake your head. “Not right now, thank you.”

He nods his head and walks away without another word. You hear the Child gurgle from afar, enjoying the fresh air. It makes you happy, seeing him waddling around with a smile. 

It takes you a few more hours before you tell Mando to try again. You wait with baited breath as he checks around, pushes a few buttons and levers and everything lights up. That annoying beep makes itself known, but it’s welcoming this time. 

“Maker!” You sigh in relief, leaning your head down against Mando’s seat. 

“We need to stop. Get more supplies, find another job too.” Mando informs. So quick, never off the job. 

You nod and sit the Child into his makeshift seat, making sure he’s stable as Mando starts the ship. It runs smoothly through the atmosphere, no beeping red lights and no smoke either. A very good sign. Mando finally lets out his own sigh once you’re in hyperspace, settling further into his chair. 

Then it’s silence. Blessed silence. _Constant_ silence.

And you’re filthy, still. You crinkle your nose as you look down at yourself, barely an inch of you clean. “I’m going to get cleaned up.” 

He tilts his head, but you’re already heading towards the fresher. You’re on autopilot at this point.

You feel too gross in your own skin, a feeling you haven’t felt in a while. You don’t remember the rest of the walk or stripping off your clothes, but as soon as that hot water hits your skin your muscles immediately relax under the spray. 

The grease and dirt slide off your body and down into swirls at your feet. Your knees, indeed scraped and scratched, sting from the water but it’s easy to ignore. You scrub at your hair and your body, feeling the onweights of the last few days settle over you. This is the type of exhaustion that hits you from nowhere, collected and buried until your body can no longer handle the pressure. You wonder how Mando’s holding up, though he’s had more practice in this type of lifestyle than you have. 

You stand under the warm water probably longer than you should, but it feels too good to deny. Your eyes close and you swallow through the soreness; another dull ache for you to dwell over. 

You want him. You want him so fucking badly. But you’re so tired, so drained from one mess after the other that you know you’re not going to handle Mando’s promise right now. 

So when you finally step out and dry yourself off, putting on a simple attire, you’re preparing yourself to tell him when you see him standing by your bunk. 

“Hey.” You whisper. 

Mando—there’s something wrong. He’s fidgeting, almost as if he’s… he’s _guilty_ of something. Or nervous, even. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him curiously and cautiously. 

He sighs. He wouldn’t be your Mandalorian if he didn’t. “I—I’m—”

He’s frustrated. Not with you, but with himself. You walk towards him until you can see your reflection on his visor. He stays still, unwavering under your questioning stare. 

“It’s okay.” You assure him gently. 

“No it’s—” He shakes his head and huffs out another sigh. “It’s not okay.”

Okay, now you’re confused. You’re really confused, and scared too, because what the fuck happened between the last quarry and the Razor Crest breaking down?

“I don’t… understand.” You drawl quizzically. 

“What I said to you, at Cantonica. It wasn’t right. It was wrong of me to—to say _anything_ at all. I’m sorry.”

He says your name softly at the end of his apology. So softly that you have to double take just to make sure you heard him right. 

Then it takes you back—Ryn. 

_“But you decided to get drunk and throw yourself at the first man that gave you the slightest bit of attention.”_

Ah. _That_. In all total honesty, you forgot about that heated accusation, but it’s clear now that he hasn’t.

“It wasn’t.” You agree. “Makes me—makes me feel like you don’t trust me.” 

He nods. “I do. Really.” The vocoder fumbles. _Fumbles_. ”I understand if you don’t want to be partners anymore or… you know.”

You laugh. “Asking a little too late there, Mando. I sucked your dick afterwards _and_ fixed your ship.” 

He looks down. “I tried to help,” he reminds you. “And that... that should’ve been me on the ground.” 

The image of that is _very_ tempting. “Next time.” You shrug. 

He whips his head back up to look at you. You smile, a goofy smile, and cross your arms over your chest. It honestly just slipped, your mind too out of it to filter yourself, but the reaction you receive is funny to you. 

“You did say you were going to take care of me.” You remind him.

“I did.” 

Your eyes droop, even when looking up at him. Fuck you’re so tried. Your blood is boiling, but you don’t think you can stay coherent enough to fully enjoy the action. It’s going to have to wait, as much as it pains you to say it. 

“Get some rest.” Mando says for you. “I’ll still be here.”

“Mm‘kay.”

You don’t bother closing your bunk door. The cot—still uncomfortable and pinching your skin—is welcoming as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

–

What’s that noise? 

That annoying, blaring noise that seeps into your blank dream and removes the blanket from your body. 

Your name. Someone’s saying your name. 

You blink a few times, but all you see is bleary colors and shapes. Some are even moving. 

Your name again. It’s louder but soft. Mando. 

You groan as you fully come to. Your body aches but in a refreshing, torturing way; you want to go back to sleep. 

“I’m up.” You swat in the air, smacking the wandering hands away and sitting up; your eyes are still half shut and you wobble in your stance. 

“Yeah.” There’s a hint of a tease in it. “I’ve landed. Going now to get supplies.” 

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your head is still a little foggy but you understand what he’s telling you. 

“‘Kay.” You slur. “Where’s the kid?”

“Next to you.” 

That wakes you up. You quickly but carefully turn, seeing a tan lump followed by his pointy green ears huddled underneath your blanket. You could’ve rolled on him!

“He refused to move.” Mando explains. 

“It’s fine.” You croak. Scooting up to the edge of the cot, you frown as your bare feet touch the cold ground. 

“I won’t be long.” 

“Sure, sure.”

He nods and takes one more look at you and the Child before moving to open the ramp. You get up and watch him leave. The swagger he eludes as he walks away screams ‘I’m better than you in every way’, and you can’t help but admire it from afar; he most likely knows you’re looking anyway. You close the ramp with a sigh of your own—you blame Mando for that—and chew on your bottom lip in thought. Maybe you can get one more hour of sleep in, or even ten minutes; you could work with that. 

You crawl back into the bunk, mindful of the sleeping child. You hum softly as you curl up on your side, wrapped up in your thin but comfortable blanket. 

Creaks and miscellaneous noises sound through the Crest, all background noise to you. After being on the ship for so long, it’s hard to fall asleep without it. It’s even harder to fall asleep when Mando isn’t here; it’s your job, too, to protect the Child, and you can’t do that if you’re half asleep. 

It’s hard though. There’s nothing else to do (fix your com, play with the Child, feed him, check the ship, clean weapons) and the laziness continues to spread through your body, pinning you down under its cover.

The Child squirms. You freeze and hold your breath, praying that he’ll stay asleep for just a few more minutes. Your prayers are not answered. 

Big, beady round eyes meet yours from underneath the covers. He babbles and holds his hand out towards you, three fingers clenching and unclenching. 

“Hey big man.” You whisper sweetly. “Think you can handle laying here for a little while longer?”

He squirms again, but remains lying by your side. Thank Maker. There’s very little space in the bunk, so it doesn’t take much for you to wrap your arm gently around the tiny thing and bring him to your chest; he gazes up at you, cooing with his ears twitching before snuggling into your warmth. 

You close your eyes and reveal in the moment. It’s sweet and precious, and before you know it your eyelids feel heavy and you hope that your alarm clock isn’t broken either. 

– 

“Shit!”

A spark flies. Another curse and a duck as another tries to go for your forehead. The Child giggles and looks at you curiously before he closes his eyes and raises his hand.

“Oh no no.” You stop him. “Thank you buddy, but it’s okay.”

You whip around in the seat, looking for his favorite toy. The seat twirls around and creaks under the strain of your frustration. You don’t want to take it out on the kid, but you’ve been working on this forsaken thing for too long now and it’s so far beating you at your own game; the whole galaxy is just laughing at you, you’re sure of it. 

There’s a loud wheezing from the hull. He’s back. 

You sigh in relief. “Mando’s back!” 

The Child giggles and wobbles up to a standing position, listening intently as Mando moves around below. You smile and point to the ladder.

“Look, he’s coming!” Then, “There’s daddy, go get em!”

You see Mando stiffen from your peripheral vision. Your eyes widen once you remember what you said. Oh _shit_. 

“Everything okay?” You ask, feigning ignorance. 

A pause. “Yeah.”

You’ll take it for now. 

Mando watches the Child wobble to him and hug his leg, gurgling and cooing. You watch, softening at the love the Child clearly has for the Mandalorian, and return to your com. It doesn’t spark this time much to your relief, but you’re still prepared for it. 

“Here.”

You look up and see Mando standing over you with a part in his outstretched hand—how did he get over here so quietly? The piece is light and cooling, and your eyes light up as soon as you recognize it.

“Oh this can work.” You beam. “Thank you.”

Squinting your eyes, you grab a small screwdriver and screw in the new part. You put everything back in its place, wires crossed where they should, and turn it on. 

Mando says your name into his com on his wrist. The effect is ear splitting, frequencies bouncing off in high pitched waves in a tight space, and has your ears ringing. It works. 

“Stars.” You groan. “I just hope this is the last of our bad luck.”

“Probably not.” He hums. 

You make a noise in the back of your throat, agreeing but held out for hope with a shrug of your shoulder. 

“Well,” you huff loudly. “Guess we’re off then.”

“Put us in hyper.” He tells you. 

You do as he says without question. Now you’re not new to flying a ship, not at all. But you’re not one of the greatest in the galaxy. It’s reminded now as the Crest takes a rocky leap into the air, hovering and staggering. 

“Sorry sorry.” You mumble hurriedly as your hands scramble across the board. 

The Child babbles behind you, and you feel a hand grip the headrest of the chair as leverage when the ship blazes through the air. It’s a good feeling, flying. It’s always been a sense of freedom to you, even in a hunk of metal and wires; a new adventure waiting to be discovered.

But hyperspace… kind of hurts. Each time it never fails to have you blinded at first by the bright flashes and your stomach flip. It’s something that you’ll probably never get over, but it’s better than the first, that’s for sure. 

There’s shuffling behind you, and when you turn around you catch Mando with his back turned to you and legs carrying him to the hull. The Child isn’t in his seat anymore, so you’re assuming he’s putting him to bed.

You lean back into your seat and don’t move. It’s especially dark right now, the only light that provides is very dim. It always makes you tired no matter how much sleep you get, annoying and frustrating to you on most days. 

“Do you trust me?”

You jump— _maker_ he’s gotta stop doing that—and spin the seat around to look at him. The helmet stares you down at the threshold, poised as always. 

“Yessssss?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not good enough. I need you to mean it.”

You do. You really do, but you can’t lie and say you’re not _scared_ by why the Mandalorian is suddenly asking you this. 

“Yes.” You say strongly this time. 

He tilts his head and reaches into his belt, pulling out something dark and bunched in his hand: a cloth.

“Put this on.” The vocoder rasps.

Your legs automatically clench against one another and your heart skips a beat. “O-okay.”

He doesn’t like your hesitation. “Is this… alright?”

You nod, but you know that’s not going to be enough for him. “Yes, Mando. I trust you.”

Mando finally stalks towards you with purpose, handing you the soft, scratchy fabric. You give him one more look, committing this moment to memory, before wrapping the blindfold around your eyes and tying it into a knot. 

He gives it a quick, careful tug. “Can you see anything?”

“No.”

You hear more shuffling, then something soft but heavier than a step. You hold your breath, waiting. Hands pry at your shoes, and you help him toe them off; they fall ungracefully to the floor, each drop a match to your unsteady pulse. He touches your ankles, causing you to jump. They slide up your calf slowly and heavily, continuing up your thighs—giving an exceptionally hard grope that has you softly keening to his touch—and cups your pussy through your pants. You moan softly and buckle under his touch. It’s so crude the way he’s just grabbing and groping you, but it means a glorious friction to your clit—a tease of what’s to come—and it’s so fucking perfect that you don’t care, you just _don’t_. 

He lets go and stops at the button of your pants. You grind your hips into his hands, encouraging him. He easily undo’s them without a hitch, so unlike you when you were in his position. You lift your hips up to help him slide your pants down, your heart pounding with anticipation. 

“Always so eager.” He marvels, so faint that you know he’s saying it under his breath; more to himself than you. 

“Mmhmm.” You hum behind tightly closed lips. Kriff you don’t want to open them, because then you’re going to be begging already, and as much as you need this, you don’t want it ending too soon. Who knows when (if?) you’ll get this opportunity again. 

He spreads your legs so he can fit himself between them and mumbles a curse you’re unable to properly hear. Your pussy is already wet just from him touching you, and the cool air makes you hiss as it hits your hot core. 

His hands move away from you entirely and you do your best to try and suppress the whimper creeping up your throat. He hasn’t even done anything to you yet and you’re already a fucking mess. 

You have to blame it on your lost sense. Without seeing what’s going on, you have to rely on all your other senses and it’s like your nerves are being shot with bolts all throughout your body, your heart thudding wildly at all the things Mando can do to you and you won’t be able to see it or watch it. 

There's two soft plaps against the floor, followed by a loud hiss. You perk up, scrunching your eyebrows and fidgeting. Does that mean—

Soft but not too soft—in between calloused—fingers spread out evenly across the flesh of your thighs. They’re not leathery or fake. He’s… he’s actually touching you. 

“Oh,” you let out a whiny whimper. “Oh!” He’s so warm and you’re finding it very difficult to stay still under his wandering bare hands. Yesyesyes _yes_.

“Stay still.” Mando orders. 

You freeze. That voice, you don’t recognize it and yet you do. It’s still deep and husky, but not the kind of rasp you’re used to. And it’s _beautiful_ , melodic, even. 

“M-mando?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, there’s no doubt that it is him, but would— _could_ he?

 _You can’t see him._ You remind yourself. 

“Breathe.” He instructs and it feels like all the air has been punched out of your lungs. “I’m here. Just breathe.”

It’s really, really hard to. You know he knows that by the way he ghosts the tips of his fingers over the end and inside of your shirt, brushing up against your pelvis, and slides up to your chest and over your racing heart. Breathe. 

You take a big gulp of air and release it through your nose. You do this one more time and start to settle under Mando’s comforting rubs, grateful for his patience. 

“Always this wet for me?” His breath fans across the top of your pubic mound, and some of it breezes gently against your throbbing clit. Your body twitches.

You open your mouth but he pinches your left nipple, effectively cutting you off. You gasp and arch into his hand, your legs slipping against his back. The sting from it only goes straight to your pussy. He lets go and palms your breast, squeezing and playing with it. 

_Slap!_

You yelp, quivering as Mando soothes the sting from his slap on your inner thigh; you’re sure the flesh is already red with his hand print, and the idea only pleases you. 

“Answer me.”

“A-always.” You whimper. “Always f-for you.”

He hums in approval. _Stars_ you want to hear more of it, you’ll never tire from that sound; the husky raspiness of his praise. He moves his right hand closer to the apex of your thighs and circles around the hood of your clit. You groan softly and he scoots closer to your cunt, his breath fully over you. It feels _amazing_. 

Something soft ghosts over the inside of your right thigh and places a light kiss. It’s barely there but you still shudder out a shaky breath, because it feels so… personal. The next kiss is harder and followed by a gentle nip, sharp and full of teeth. You whimper at that and slide a few inches down the chair, trying to get closer to him. He sucks at the patch of skin and licks over the bruise you know is forming right now; another mark left by your Mandalorian. 

“Please Mando.” You beg wantonly. “Been waiting fucking weeks for this.”

He chuckles. _Mando chuckles!_

“I know, pretty girl.” He nearly coos. 

But still, he takes his time kissing you—well, your legs—and biting his mark into them. Every now and then he’ll hover in front of your hot, dripping core and brushes his nose against your folds before switching over to suck a new bruise. It frustrates you. Your pussy is so wet it’s ridiculous and you’re trembling with pure need, and you want nothing more than to feel his mouth on your cunt and his fingers inside you, or maybe better yet his cock. You’re half tempted to pull him up by his hair and kiss him.

His mouth leaves your thigh, and you swear he can read your mind and he’s just been fucking with you this entire time because he always does this when you think of something that—something that can mean more than the visor you look at every day, _past_ it even you could say.

His hand shifts to your neglected breast and tweaks the already perk and erect nipple. Your body moves on its own, slithering and withering against the chair. He pinches your nipple the same time he lunges forward suddenly and nips your clit with a precise bite.

“FU—Mando _fuck_.” You cry out brokenly.

You feel something hot, slippery and rough slither against your pussy. Your mouth parts but nothing comes out, your hands gripping the edges of the chair to the point of pain against your nails. His hands comes down to your knees, keeping them pressed as wide as they can go in the small space you have. His kitten licks at you a few more times, like he’s taking his time with your taste. Then he starts to slither in and out of your entrance, tongue fucking you with a vigor.

“Oh, oh _Mand_ —“ you moan, cut off when he licks up your fold again, this time twirling the tip of his tongue against your abused clit.

Mando pulls back, you can tell only a little by the heavy feel of his pants against your pussy. There’s a soft _swoosh_ of air and you feel the tip of his finger against your bottom lip. 

“Suck it. Like you sucked my cock.” He orders. 

Oh you will do it _gladly_. Your tongue darts out and wraps around his digit, bringing it into the warm cavern of your mouth. You make a show of it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking, swirling your tongue like it’s around the head of his dick and biting him, moaning at the salty taste of his skin. His breaths comes out in shudders and the hand that’s still gripping your leg squeezes until his short nails are digging into you; you don’t mind it one bit. 

He takes his finger out and immediately dips into your folds, sliding up to your clit and giving it a tweak. “ _Kriff_.” You groan. Your pussy clenches when he does it again, body giving out a spasm and your lower stomach pulling in, coiling. He pulls back to say,

“Breathe.”

There’s a quiet _tah_ and something wet and warm drips down your cunt, prompting a surprised moan as your body shivers. It takes you a second to realize what he’d just done.

He just—he just spit on you. On your pussy. _Spit_. And _fuck_ you shouldn’t love it as much as you do with your cunt clenching painfully around nothing. What else do you not know about yourself?

“Oh stars you— _ah_ —y-you just—” Mando dives back to your core with a feverish dedication, circling his lips around your clit and swirling his tongue twice around. Your hips buckle against his mouth on their own accord, and he lays a palm flat on your lower stomach and pushes you down. His face lowers down a little so that his nose brushes against your clit as he licks and sucks at you. An soldering heat builds deep up in your core, making the muscles in your legs tense before the tremble and the muscles in your stomach bow under his hand. 

Mando slurps and laps at you like a man starved, like this is his first drink of water after being stuck in a desert. You’re trying to keep some of your moans in, as afraid to wake the Child, but what you’re feeling now… it’s too powerful to keep quiet. 

He suddenly pulls his mouth away from you. “Wha—” His wet finger plunges inside you. Your back arches and you make a sound that’s so squeaky you know you’ll look back at it later and cringe; but only Mando has so far fucked it out of you. He curls it inside you, feeling around for that one spot. You shift your hips, just a little, and he brushes up against it. 

“There!” You gasp. “Oh ri—right _there_.”

“Okay, pretty girl.” The way he says it, airy and… and so _sincere_. It makes your stomach flip and your cunt clench around his finger. 

His lips go back to your clit, biting gently at it. You moan and preen, and bring your shaking hand up just a few inches over your thigh. “C-can I touch you?”

Mando’s answer is a hand wrapping around your wrist—you gasp at the warmth of it, the friction of his palm against your wrist, bringing a whole new euphoric nerve into your veins; like a fresh new feeling to the patch of skin he’s touching. It sounds ridiculous, you know, but you can’t help but feel poetic given the nature of this simple interaction. 

He brings your hand to his hair, and it feels soft under your fingers. It’s wavy and thick as you run your fingers through them. You quickly wonder what color his hair is. 

Another finger thrusts inside you, knuckle deep. You’re so wet they both ease in with little resistance, and your lower stomach is coiling with a sweet tension that ties pain with pleasure. 

He twists and flicks his wrist, and he gives a shake of his head, moaning at the taste of you. And _shit_ just—

“Like that.” You finish breathlessly. 

He jigsaws his jaw and slurps crudely at the pooling and dripping wetness that’s still seeping out of you. Your thighs are starting to shake and your mind is going blank, but you can still register the broken words and phrases that sound like you.

“Y-yes, _yes_. Don’t—oh _shit_ —d-do th-AH-t agai—“

Mando seems to get off on your sounds of pleasure and your nonsense babbles, because every time a moan or a cry escapes your chest, he sucks or fucks you harder and faster. 

“You taste _good_.” Mando growls into your cunt. You choke and thrash your head. “Y-yea-y—” 

Now with two of those thick fingers curling and gliding along your inner walls, you can’t be quiet. Your pussy is clenching and pulsing painfully and you’re almost _there_. His fingers push in and out of you faster, and you now realize the slap and watery sounds echoing in the cockpit. It’s so… euphoric and that only intensifies your oncoming orgasm. 

You tug at his hair accidentally harshly, but it earns you a deep growl from the man between your legs and your cunt clenches. “Mando I’m— _mhhmg_ —close.” You gasp between pants and strangled whimpers. 

He pulls up, his breathing audible but more controlled than yours. “Do it. Cum, pretty girl. _Sweet_ girl.” 

Oh fuck he knows that gets you. “I—oh _Mando_ don’t e-ever stop, d- _don’t_ stop.” 

He gives your clit one powerful suck—so fucking loud that you ought to be embarrassed about it; you’re not of course—with a swirl of his tongue and buries his fingers deep inside you and pumps vigorously with a curled bow. 

Oh maker you can feel the vibrations of his growls and moans echo deep in your pussy. Your inner muscles are tightening in on itself, suffocating you. Your pussy will not stop fluttering and you can’t stop saying his name, it’s too much and yet you don’t want it to stop and you can’t think you can’t speak you can’t breathe—

Your mouth opens and your breath heaves to say something—or to scream—but nothing comes out. It’s just little clicks and choked groans. Your whole body shakes as you cum, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers that it even has Mando groaning just from the feel of it, and your legs tighten around his shoulders. Nothing but white flashes behind your eyelids and it feels like your heart is going to beat right out of your chest. 

He takes you through your orgasm until it becomes too much and you push his head away. He, like he just can’t help himself, moves in to lick up your slit and slurp at your clit. You jerk on his mouth and he finally pulls away. 

It takes minutes, you think, before you fully come back to your body. Mando still has his fingers in you and he’s rubbing a hand comfortably on your lower stomach, soothing you back to your senses. Your mouth is dry from hanging open too long but you feel the faint stickiness of drool on the corner of your lips. Your pussy is still fluttering around him and when he moves just slightly to pull them out you whine and convulse around him again as every inch of him disappears from your gaping center. 

Mando waits patiently until your breaths steadies and you completely slump against the chair. You feel spent and satificationally sated, even when the leather starts to stick uncomfortably against your slick skin; your juices drip down your ass and you swear you can feel him staring at you—more specifically your pussy. 

“Tha-that was,” you gulp. “Amazing.”

He chuckles through his nose and gives your pussy a light slap. It’s like a quiet _splish_ , and your cheeks turn red as you whimper. 

You hear him get up and somehow, with jelly muscles, you bring yourself up to a full seating positing, wincing at the squelching, squishy feeling beneath you. You lick your lips, waiting for his next move. He shuffles around and then you hear the familiar, robotic voice. 

“I’m going to go to sleep. Do you need anything before I do?”

You remove the blindfold, blinking rapidly as your eyes struggle to adjust to the lights. “Nope, I’m good.” More than good. 

His gloves are back on too, much to your disappointment, and you whirl around, looking for your pants. Mando silently picks them up and hands them to you, but not without brushing his fingers against your knee, almost twirling them like a dance. Goosebumps erupt around the area he’s touching until it hits your entire body, and your breath hitches as you swallow thickly, your pussy _and_ heart fluttering with excitement. 

“Sure sleep is what you want?” You whisper. 

He removes his hand away with a small shrug of his shoulder. “Have to.” He whispers back.

You give him a small smile and nod. “I know. Go, I’ll have something for you to eat when you wake up.”

He nods and walks away, so quietly that if you weren’t watching him you would never know he was even there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch


	4. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet up with a new client, who is also a part of the Mandalorian's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short but I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Tumblr: @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch

“I don’t see why you have to come with.” **  
**

You sigh and plant your hands on your hips. “Well, Mando, some of us like to see the sun every once and a while and just do _something_.”

“You do. Here. With the Child.” The modulator sparks back. 

You roll your eyes. “I know but—”

“Please stop arguing with me.”

“No.”

Mando sits with his back turned towards you, hands gripping the levers to pilot the Crest to your new bounty to claim. It’s been at least a good five minutes of the two of you going back and forth like this, and with no such luck of moving past his incredibly thick barriers; so, what else is new?

You continue to stand there with your hands on your hips like some stern parent scolding their child. It feels a little ridiculous once you think of it, but you are not going to back down, not from this one. 

He just sits there, silent and staring straight ahead. He’s ignoring you. 

“For fu—Mando!” 

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“I’m going whether you like it or not.” You say. 

“Uh huh.” 

You huff angrily and stomp off to the hull where the weapons are stashed. Deep down, you know Mando is right. Your main job _is_ caring for the mysterious green little creature that’s currently snuggled up in a shirt of yours—you think your scent comforts him—but you were always moving around before all this and just sitting on the ship doing the same thing day in and day out was starting to get to you. 

So you grab your blaster, make sure it’s clean enough, and wait. It’s going to do nothing but piss him off, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. Well no, you _do_ , enough to make you feel a little guilty and childish, but— _stars_ he’s just as equally frustrating. 

It’s only been two days since he went down on you, and it’s right back to the start of how this all began. This seems to be a pretty lengthy pattern of his; push you until you’re both ready to tear each other’s throats out, until you can no longer resist the temptations that boils your blood and fuck each other until you can stand to be in the same room again. Sometimes it feels like he’s… he’s putting distance between the two of you, awaiting for the flame to simmer down into smoke before he relights it again with a brighter burn. 

And burns brighter it does each and every single time, and one day it’s going to be too hot to touch, too hot to stow away, until it consumes you; for better or worse, you can’t say.

The Crest lands with a wheeze, strong-like with the sense of better days. You continue to sit by and wait, each stomp against the metal ground enlightening an anxious glow; you’re not quite sure on why you’re suddenly so nervous to go against his word—it’s not like it’s the first and it surely won’t be the last. 

Or you’re just horny, more like it. 

You don’t turn around when you hear him behind you; his annoyed sigh is all you need. 

“Don’t worry Mando,” you say with an edge. “I won’t bother you.”

He walks past you without a word or a glance your way, which is fine with you because who needs a grumpy tin can ruining their day anyway? 

The walk to the cantina is _exactly_ how you’d expect it to be. Mando, walking in big steps ahead of you, no longer loud but soft with every bounce to his feet, and you, trailing behind thinking about the Mandalorian who does nothing but annoy and puzzle you. 

“Are you coming?”

You shake your head, blinking dazily. Mando holds the door to the entrance for you, waiting. You put your head down, muttering a soft thanks as you scurry by. 

As soon as you’re inside, Mando struts towards the smallest but darkest part of the bar; you can barely see it from here, no one would unless they directly walked by, and as you walk closer to a booth with a figure sitting in it, you realize that this must be who Mando is meeting, because a dark corner where no one can see you? Not shady at all. 

The man waves Mando over, a cheeky little smirk across his face. You look around, making sure everything is in the clear, Mando not even looking back to see if you were still following; you can never be too careful, especially when travelling with this insufferable, miserable, perhaps even _gorgeous_ — 

“Mando!” The man, middle aged, big body, blonde locks atop such a small looking head, croons to the metal man with an arm raised as if he was greeting an old friend. “And who may your lovely friend be?”

You frown as you give him your name with a kurt shake to the hand. Who the hell is this guy?

“Tully’s the name, by the way,” he tells you. “Please, sit.”

Mando gestures for you to go first, so you slide into the booth, happy that you have a corner to yourself.

“Been a while, Mando. Was afraid I wasn’t gonna see you again!”

Mando only offers a curt nod at the joke, and you support a forced smile to match the man’s overly enthusiastic one. 

“So,” Tully sighs as he leans back, bellowing for a round of drinks. “What’s your story?” He turns to you. “Tell me _allll_ about the Mandalorian’s mystery girl.”

Mystery girl, huh? 

“Just a partner,” you tell Tully. “That’s all.”

“Oh c’mon,” Tully bellows. “You gotta tell me more! I mean, I’ve known this man for a long time now and—” he stops, looks over to the Mandalorian, then swallows. “All in a friendly manner, of course.”

This… this is pretty awkward. You feel Mando stiffen beside you, and you can’t help but agree—you had just met the man, and considering Mando’s cold and distant reaction to him, you don’t think it’s a good idea to start pouring out your life story. 

“Jobs.” Mando cuts in as soon as soon as you open your mouth. “That’s all we’re here for, and we don’t have a lot of time left before we have to leave again.”

Tully turns towards Mando with a small hint of betrayal in his eyes, but it quickly washes away when a tray of drinks is placed in the middle of the table. 

“Of course,” Tully laughs. “Business as usual.” 

“Right,” you chip in. “And may I have a small dish, please. Whatever is cheap.” You might as well eat while you’re here. 

He waves down the bartender and asks for broth. “Alright, jobs. I got one for ya, but it’s a big one.”

Mando perks up at this. “Yeah? That’s good.”

“Figured you’d like that. Your bounty is in Edis, actually. Strange place but hey—” he lifts his arms up with a cheeky grin. “—to each their own.”

“And after?”

Tully takes a sip of his drink, reminding you of yours; dark but with a richness that satisfies your taste buds. Your soup comes next, hot and steaming in front of you.

“And after you collect your reward.” He slides something small across the table to Mando. “You know how to reach me.”

Mando takes it and immediately pockets it, settling his forearms out in front of him. “Alright.”

Tully chuckles. “Wonderful! You’ll walk away with a pocketful of credits and more of a swagger to your steps!” He full on laughs now, as if there’s some hidden joke in his words. It does nothing but confuse you.

Tully settles down rather slowly and you can’t help but stare, not really sure on what you should say or do. He looks like he wants to stay, relive the memories of the good ‘ole days with the Mandalorian he once knew, but one quick look towards the two of you makes him nod his head and shift. 

“Well I must be off now.” He belows before gulping down the rest of his drink and slamming a few credits down. “Good luck, and if you don’t me saying, I do hope to catch up with you another time.” He looks at the both of you with a gaze of solemn before finally walking off. 

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until now, your chest lowering with new-filled oxygen. 

“Where the hell did you meet _that_ guy?” You question before taking a spoonful of your soup. 

“Met him through an old crew. Never liked him, but he’s also one of the few that hasn’t tried to cross me. _Yet_ , at least.”

You gulp. “Old crew?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I was young, stupid, and arrogant.”

Rare moments like these always catches you off guard, sweeps you off your feet like a tidal wave of curiosity; if anything, this not only surprises you, but it opens another door within your mind of endless wanting to know this enigma of a Mandalorian, to piece him together through this jungle of a puzzle. 

You want to ask more, pry through the thick barriers, but instead you blubber out, “Still kinda are.”

Your eyes widen, shock written all over it but you fight to contain the giggle that bubbles in your chest when you see him slowly turn towards you. 

“Yeah?”

Short. Rough. Stern. 

It makes your heart skip a beat and a low heat flare between your legs. 

“Arrogant at least,” you say quietly and lick your lips. “Sometimes, I feel like you still carry that ‘swagger’ with you, but you probably don’t even notice it now.”

You stop yourself before you continue to ramble. The reflection from his visor shows you, wide eyed and lips parted; you wonder exactly how _he_ sees you through that helmet. 

The soup in front of you is still hot, not as steaming as before, which helps when you inhale a good bit of the meats and broth but still burns your tongue in the process. 

And it’s quiet, so _quiet_ here, in this little space of yours, that it’s starting to become almost unbearable and _tight_ ; like he’s just wrapping you up in his aroma alone, squeezing you into your own chaotic state of mind. 

“Okay.”

A warm, leathery hand places itself on your knee. 

“Um…” you swallow and bat your eyes at him, trying to figure out how you should play this out. It’s like his hand, this simple gesture that doesn’t _have_ to mean anything more, is already sending you into a frenzy. The pulsing in your core is becoming more and more rapid by the second with every stray thought of his cock buried deep inside you, of his hands on you, pulling your body towards waves of ecstasy with very little difficulty. 

It’s tempting, it’s _very_ tempting. Even here you want nothing more than his body on top yours, or at least something along those lines, _anything_. 

At the same time, you just want to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

“I’m awfully hungry,” you finally sigh, turning away from him. “I don’ think this will do alone. You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

The sweet, exaggerated coo that flows through your lips like honey makes you blink slightly in surprise, because it almost doesn’t sound like you at all. 

The barely, just _barely_ audible crackle of his breath fuels your confidence, lets you know that you absolutely have his attention now. 

It’s like every voice is background noise, each sound filled with different octaves of emotions, colliding together in sync with clashes and clangs of plates and cups and other various items; it’s not enough to penetrate this little bubble you and Mando have created, only fuels the desire if anything. 

“Mando we should—“

“Just finish eating.”

A mouthful of the hot—but no longer steaming—continues to burn your tongue with a dull scorch that does very little to ease your arousal. You swallow thickly, going for more of the meat and broth, and spread your legs a little with a small, quick side glance his way. 

“Another plate, please. Whatever you have,” Mando suddenly says.

You look up in surprise (where the hell did she come from?), nearly horrified that this nice lady may see the inkling of what Mando has in store for you with his hand lightly squeezing your knee if she were to just shift a little forwards and look down. 

“Of course,” she smiles; you give her one in return.

Fingertips start to dig on your inner flesh, inching up your thigh. It feels so hard to _breathe_ like this, in the back of this cantina in the dark booth, Mando‘s hand inching higher and higher up your right leg until your pussy is _more_ than wet and throbbing; there’s no doubt that he can feel the heat radiating from your core, and he still sits as professional as ever, turning his head every now and then. 

His hand now rests in the middle of your thigh, flesh entailed in his palm as he squeezes, much firmer than before. It continues to rest there, even after you’re handed your second filling.

As much as this little game excites you—no, there’s gotta be a better word for your trembling form, skin prickled in goosebumps, heart beating furiously against your chest to the point of discomfort—you don’t think you can hold out much longer without making a scene. 

“ _Please_ ,” you shutter out, pleading with your eyes. 

“What?” His helmet tilts towards you. “What do you want me to do?” 

It just comes out so _cocky_ , as if he’s truly living up to your earlier evaluation. It sparks the annoyance only Mando can reach deep inside you—in more ways than one—that makes you sit back, slouch down, and quirk an eyebrow. 

“Alright.” You gulp the rest of the drink Tully provided. “I want you to admit that I _am_ right about my earlier observations. Then, I want you to finger me while I give you a handjob. Right here if you dare. Can make it a challenge if you like.”

Oh you wish you wish you _wish_ you can see his face right now, just to see his expression; his body language is just enough to appeal to your smile. You have the stilling of his hand and the stiffness that tells you you caught him off guard; it makes you feel… _powerful_ almost, that you may have just gotten the best of this ruthless Mandalorian and will live to tell the tale of it. 

“I-I can’t…” he sighs. “Too dangerous.”

“Oh why, because you can’t handle it?” You mock him with an over exaggerated squeak.

“No,” he growls softly. “It’s too obvious, and you know that.”

Well… he does have a point.

“Okay I’ll change it up then,” you ponder thoughtfully. 

“Instead of giving me a handjob here, you can do it as soon as we’re back on the ship.”

“Nah,” you shake your head. “It’s too easy. What would be the point, then?”

“That we both get to cum.”

Stars that probably shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did, but it happens like an extra, burning weight sitting in the pit of your stomach. 

Suddenly his hand moves higher on your leg and he cups your heat. You gasp, jolting from the vulgarity of it; _oh_ you missed this. 

“I’m not relenting,” you grit out through your teeth. 

“I’ll let you decide when we get back, alright?” He comprises. “Whatever you want… _within reason_.” 

You bite down on your lip, grappling with the new terms. Stars you didn’t even think you’d get this far. You also don’t know how he’s so seemingly _calm_ about this, either. 

Well, it _does_ give you more time to really think of something that you’ll later think back on with a fond, devilish smile, and you can’t leave the little guy out on the ship alone for _too long_ , so for now, it’s reasonable. 

“Okay,” you agree. 

“And one more thing,” he leans down, making you hold your breath as you anticipate his next words. “You have to be quiet.”

Of _course_ you were going to have to stay quiet, that was the whole point of this little game you initiated, you suppose. But the way he whispers it so that no one else will hear, so that it only reaches your ears with a warning, a _promise_ , a dominating tone that ignites the firing passion threatening to overwhelm your entire being. 

You have to roll your lips to hide your whimper as you nod your head. He nods back, the same pace as yours, and scoots just a little bit closer to you so that your legs are barely touching. 

“Eat. And breathe.”

He gives your mound a squeeze that makes your thighs clench around his hand. His hand then slides over to the buttons of your trousers and swiftly undoes them before he slides his whole gloved hand in, straight under your panties. 

It’s so difficult to function right now, let alone let out the ragged breaths from your chest. He’s teasing you, coursed fingertips brushing against your slit, humming softly as if he can feel the full heat coming from your pussy. You take a strangled bite of the rather delicious food laid out in front of you, hoping that it’ll help you a little; it only serves as a small, momentary distraction. 

He graces you with a few more bites, keeping his hand still over you. By the time you’re chewing on your fourth fill, he slides his finger through your folds, inserting only the tip of his finger inside you. 

You suck in a breath and will your eyes to stay open. He pauses, waits for you to release your exhale, and pushes further in, just below the knuckle. Your pussy clenches around him, trying to suck more of his digit in. 

“ _Maker_ ,” you sigh over your plate. 

It feels foreign, these orange, worn out leather gloves, and so _dirty_ , too; not quite as nice as his flesh, but _thicker_ and the added gruffness—and the knowledge that he’s fingering you with his glove on—forces a new feeling in your chest that travels straight down to your pussy. 

Mando shifts and he pulls his finger out to thrust back in at a slow, even pace. It feels good, it does, but he’s just… _scratching_ ; teasing. It angers you, and you make sure to communicate that with your eyes as you whip your head towards him. 

“I said n-nothing about teasing,” you hiss under your breath. 

“That’s right,” he lightly shrugs. “You didn’t say anything about it in our deal, so I’m not breaking any rules, am I?”

You want to smack him. You want to huff and pull his hand away because he’s _right_. 

_‘Next time,’_ you think. _‘Remember to be more specific.’_

He pulls his finger out and you anticipate the next thrust but it keeps going until he’s cupping your pussy again. You whine, low in your throat, and subtly roll your hips. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “You’re right. Just—”

You have to swallow the yelp that stops at your throat and stop your knee from banging against the table as Mando curls his finger and brushes against your g-spot, not quite bumping it due to the awkward and compromised angle, but it’s enough for you to bite down on your bottom lip until it hurts and fist your utensil until your knuckles strain. Another circles your hole, teasing the quivering flesh until you’re rubbing yourself against his hand. 

“Go on,” he implores, and it takes you a moment to understand what he’s saying before he indicates towards your plate. 

You practically jab the fork onto the plate as you shove whatever this tasty and juicy meat is in your mouth and chew roughly. When he doesn’t move you take another and another until there’s about a decent amount left. Mando rewards you by inserting another finger and curling them at the same time, making you sigh from the instant, painful relief. 

“Anyone could be watching us right now,” Mando suddenly says. 

You look up at him with furrowed brows, trying to figure out what his angle is here. His palm grinds delectably against your throbbing clit, hard enough for a low rumble to ripple through your chest. 

“And here you are, letting me finger you without a care in the galaxy. It gets you off, doesn’t it?”

It’s like he knows that his voice alone just does it for you, whether it’s filthy words like this or the moans and grunts you have the occasional privilege of hearing. Your pussy flutters around his fingers, a desperate plea forming in your eyes. The coil in your stomach is almost unlike any you’ve ever experienced, tightening and tightening until the fire in your lower belly starts to consume your lower half, and that’s when you realize he’s right; it really does turn you on to think that someone, _anyone_ , can just walk by and see what he’s doing to you, letting everyone know that, in some type of way, you and this Mandalorian are _very_ close. 

“Mando,” you breathe, because right now that’s the only word that makes sense to you, the only word that comes to your fuzzy mind. 

“I can feel you,” your cunt pulses around him in response. “Almost there.”

He pumps his fingers faster and it only makes the torture so much harder to endore, your body wired and tense as your muscles stay still—still enough as not to raise any awareness, so that doesn’t stop your legs from crossing under the table, trapping his hand between your thighs. 

“Uncross them,” he orders quietly. 

“But—“

“Anything else I can do for ya, travelers?”

You freeze, your left leg hanging slightly above the ground as you do as he says despite your protest, but Mando—he speeds up, grinds his hand harder against your clit until the jolts lighting up your nerves are damn near too much. It takes everything you have to smile up at her and shake your head.

“No, thank you,” you politely wave her off. 

As soon as she leaves you slump, hiding your whine behind a cough when you feel another gut wrenching clench from your lower stomach. Oh stars above this feels fucking amazing, the pulsing in your pussy is enough to make you completely blank out. 

“I-I think she—mmh—“ you wait a moment to compose yourself (but _oh kriff_ he’s adding another finger and you feel so _full_ , so completely and utterly _fucked_ and not like when you’re stuffed with his cock but just near close enough, just on the edge of a blasting orgasm in front of all these unknowing people), “—l-likes you, Mando.”

“Does that make you jealous?” He huffs, trying but failing to mask the chuckle beneath it. 

“N—“ you have to stop and make it seem like you’re not about to explode. Your toes curl in your boots along with your legs straining against the onslaught of this euphoric torture. 

“Would you still do this if Tully was here?”

His fingers keep moving like you never said anything. They speed up just a little bit more. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He taunts back. 

You chuckle—it sounds more like a wheeze as another wave pulses through your cunt. “No th— _fuck_ —thank you.” 

He laughs back, and despite… everything, you laugh with him. 

“C’mon,” he soothes with what sounds like a sneer. “You better hurry.”

You don’t know how but his fingers speed up even faster, now repeatedly hitting your g-spot with perfect precision while rubbing harshly against your clit until it becomes so sensitive that all you can feel is the nerves that are being shot through your core—it’s frustrating on how well he already knows your body based on your short number of encounters. 

And even though you want to snap back at him, you know the moment you open your mouth you’re not going to be able to stop the scream that’s clawing through your esophagus. Your foot bumps into something, and you quickly look down to realize about four things: one, your legs have subconsciously spread again and your foot has just bumped into his. Two, not only are your legs spread as wide as they can go, but they’re shaking too. Three, you’re still clutching the fork in your hand and digging it into the wooden table, creating a small indent in its wake. And four, you’re close, _very fucking close_ and if he shifts a little to the left he’ll get that perfect angle on your clit—

“I’m—” your hips cant forwards, following his fingers, the pleasure that’s about to implode in your pussy. 

You put your hand over your mouth, biting down on the inside of your palm. Your cunt clenches around his fingers until he can barely pull them out without restraint—without the feel of your slick walls pulling his gloves like they belong there—and he whispers one word,

“ _Cum_.”

And you do. 

It _hurts_ , it hurts even more than the other times he’s brought you to this orgasmic peak, but it only prolongs the numbing feeling coursing through your body, mixed with the finest… _blowout_ , until all there is is the soothing of his fingers as they still pump in and out of your drenched pussy. 

Your head feels like it’s on a cloud itself, detached from the rest of your limp, spent body. Mando keeps curling his fingers to the point where it’s absolutely too much, especially now, in this cantiana. 

“ _Mando_ ,” you warn breathlessly. 

You think he takes in joy at the feeling of your cunt endlessly clutching and fluttering around him. In the way your leg stays pressed against his, and the way the muscles in your stomach can’t stop constricting that matches perfectly with each shuddering breath through your lips. 

He watches you and waits patiently for you to recover. Once you’re sure you’re back to, you look around to make sure that no one is showing signs of seeing you; so far, so good. 

“Maker,” you sigh and run a hand over your face. 

Mando carefully withdrawals his fingers from you, making you whine lowly at the loss; you shift, grimacing at the wet, squishy feeling between your thighs. From the corner of your vision, you see him wipe his fingers on his cape. 

“Think you can walk?” He teases. 

You frown. “Y-yeah.” 

He starts to get up, but when you’re about to do the same, the little food on your plate makes you remember, 

“Wait.”

He stops and turns. You smirk at him, knowing that it’ll annoy him, and cross your arms. 

“You still have to admit I was right.”


	5. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tease through the links and a bet fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be a little short and anti climatic but enjoy!!
> 
> tumblr: @mcfreakin-bitch

You’ve finally figured it out.

After about a week of travelling to your next destination, it finally occurs to you to just play at his _own_ game. You know—fingering you in a crowded cantina, smirking to himself while you struggled to stay quiet in that fucking booth... 

But first, you must say that Edis _is_ a strange place. Rain falling at every hour with apparently no signs of ever letting up, and the _humidity_ is unforgiving—how Mando is handling it in all that armor and padding, you’re almost too afraid to ask, because there’s just no way that he’s comfortable, and an uncomfortable Mando can lead to a grumpy one. 

Maker you’re grumpy yourself if you’re being honest. The Child has been restless lately, like the heat is getting to him as well, and that’s been taking a toll on your (already) poor sleep schedule; Mando tries to help, but there’s only so much he can do. However, it has given you the chance to think of the perfect payback for your little deal—or bet is a better word—and you gotta say, you’re a little proud of yourself for coming up with this evil—and small—tryst in the first place. 

If it’ll work the way you want it to, time will tell. 

“Were you even listening?”

The modulated crackle startles you from your thoughts. You turn in the pilot’s seat, making contact with the visor and the stiffness of his posture confirms your suspicions—he’s hot _and_ grumpy. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Lost in my thoughts.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m leaving. They should be nearby, and everything should work out as long as you and the ship stay hidden.”

Like anyone could. Mando isn’t messing around on this one—well, the man doesn’t mess around with anything, actually—and he’s made damn sure that not only are you available with a few weapons nearby (some hidden, of course, just in case), but that the Razor Crest is shadowed by towering trees a bushes in this small part of the rainforest; it’s nearly impossible to even see the gunk through the one of the thickest part of the forest. If anything finds you, they most likely won’t come back alive. 

“Okay. Good luck.”

He gives you one nod and the cape whips as he turns around, strutting towards the ladder as you follow behind. Mando checks on the kid—sitting up in the middle of the haul with a few little toys surrounding him—and gives him a gentle caress of his floppy ear before using his vambrace to open the ramp. He doesn’t give you a glance back, and that’s okay with you, but you can’t deny the slight stinging in your chest when he disappears into the foreign planet. 

“Alright little guy,” you say with a grunt as you plop down on the floor next to the Child. “Let’s figure out what to do.”

***

Ten days. 

Mando has been gone longer on bounties like this, believe or not, but that still doesn’t ease your increasing anxiety when the com link stays silent; you suppose you’re used to the quickness of his updates. 

Today, after hours of entertaining the baby the best you could, you can finally settle comfortably in the pilot’s chair… but now what?

Sleep, your body says, because what else is there really to do? Don’t, your mind tells you, because you have the baby here alone on an unfamiliar planet and anything could happen. A part of you wants to go out and check the foreign terrain. One look shouldn’t hurt— 

“Hey,” his voice speaks through in statics. 

You quickly fumble with the com, feeling like a clumsy mess when you almost drop it in your haste; he’s caught you by surprise, for about the hundredth time. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah I’m here,” you stammer. 

“Not so close,” he tells you, annoyed and tired. 

You wince and pull your hand back from your mouth. “Sorry. Good news, I hope?”

“Yes. And no. It’ll be at least a few days before we’re out of here.”

That sucks.

You suspect that the quarry is indeed with him by the short words, and that’s okay, because with your plan now in the front of your brain, fresh anew like the first time you cococked it in the wake of sleep, washing your quick irritation away, your chance is finally here. 

“Mando,” you say as sweetly as you can—your heart skips a beat when there’s a moment of silence. “They can’t hear me, right?” you continue before you can find out if the com is dead or not. 

This is incredibly risky. Even a little unfair of sorts, given that he’s technically working right now, and that leaves no room for games or distractions—the moment is just too _good_ to pass up. 

Another minute goes by. You sink in your chair in disappointment, ready to admit defeat. 

“Not now.”

_Yes_. 

“This was part of the deal, Mando,” you remind him. “And I’m already starting to get _wet_.”

That isn’t a lie. The slickness of your arousal is starting to seep from your core—fourteen days (counting the week it took to get here) is a _long_ time, and as long as you can get him to keep talking, this will work _beautifully_ for you. 

A pause. “I can’t…”

“I’ll do all the talking,” you lick your lips and slink down comfortably, sliding your hand along the length of your neck, imagining it’s his hand wrapping around your throat. “You just listen. You can do that, can’t you?”

You wait, and for a split second you’re afraid that, yet again, you’ve done something wrong. You really have to start working on that. 

“You don’t—”

“ _Okay_.”

Maker. Maker okay. 

“I uh—” what were you going to say to him when you thought of this in the first place? “I… you know what I think about when you’re gone?” You know he can’t answer _much_ , not without giving himself away, but you pause anyway for dramatic effect. “First, I imagine you stalking towards me like you always do… like I’m one of your bounties.”

Your pussy quivers in excitement as you close your eyes and picture him doing just that, sliding your hand down to your chest, groping your covered breast and trying to mimic the same amount of pressure he applies to them—you really wish it was his hand instead. 

“Then you cage me in, leaving me with nowhere to go. There’s a specific type of exceleration to it. One that makes things even more… _exciting_.” You pinch your nipple and whine, loud enough to give him a good show—Stars you hope that quarry can’t hear you through the baskar bucket of his. “You like to drag it out, to watch me shiver in anticipation, and fuck if I don’t like it either.”

You can hear the light breathing through the comlink. A spark of victory, _early_ victory, runs through your body and straight to your pussy, neglected and hungry for any type of friction. 

“And then,” your hand slides further down to the waistline of your pants, fumbling with the buttons. “You _touch_ me. Softly, at first, because you love to tease—” a barely audible sigh interrupts, bringing a cheeky grin to your lips. “—and I think you’re an ass man, because you never miss a chance to lay your hands on mine.” Your fingers slither their way under your panties; your inner thighs twitch at the first brush of your finger against your aching clit, and more slickness escapes your cunt. “And you ghost your fingers over my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips where you like to grip them tight, to my dripping pussy…”

Not a peep from the com. You’re surprised he’s kept his composure. You shouldn’t be, yet a part of you is. 

“And,” you go on with a moan. “When I feel your _thick_ fingers paw at me, rip my clothes off and fuck my pussy _deep_ , getting me ready for your big cock while your teeth scrapes against my neck—oh _fuck_ …” The curse slips from your lips without warrant; your fingers buried in your pussy like you’re explaining to him. “My fingers are not the same—” you bite down on your lip as you curve your fingers, delicately trying to find the spot Mando finds with precision. “They don’t make me feel as full as yours do. But I’m still fucking myself with them, Mando. While you’re out there, and I’m in here… it sucks, doesn’t it. Having to stay quiet when all’s you want to do is fuck me until I can feel you for days and day after, your cum leaking from me, and who knows, maybe I won’t even let _you_ cum.”

“You will,” he nearly growls, and that’s an early sign you’re in a world of trouble when he does get back. “That’s part of the deal.”

“...What...deal…”

The faint voice cuts in annoyingly, and Mando shoots back with a decent threat that’d make _you_ terrified for your life; again, it’s probably wrong that it does nothing to deteriorate the fluttering of your wet muscles. 

“Keep going,” his tone leaves no room for argument. 

Your fingers move faster. “I think you should be a little nicer to me,” you sigh dramatically. “You’ve been gone for so long, leaving me all by lonesome… you like to do this a lot I’ve realized, leave me high and dry. But you might have a chance to fuck my face if you’re a _good_ boy.”

You have to stifle your giggle at the last bit. 

“Yeah, you’d like that,” you coo. “And I’d swallow every drop.”

A barely audible exhale filters through the link. You’re right there with him, your face scrunched in concentration. 

“I’m happy as long as you’re inside me,” you continue on with delight. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but you can _fuck_.”

Mando sighs again, this time feigned with theatorical frustration—well in his case, it may be truthful, but it sounds more for the quarry’s (and yours) benefit than the latter. 

This is more of an ego boost for him more than anything as well, if you think about it, but as long as you get him riled up and you cum, that’s enough for you. So you curve your fingers the best you can given the compromised position and flick your thumb against your clit, images of his gloves sliding down your pants in the cantina playing through on repeat. This time you moan louder for your own amusement, imagining him struggle; it’s sweet, sweet revenge. 

“And?” He asks suddenly—calm and steady. 

His voice, even modulated like that, makes your muscles twitch as the coil in your lower stomach boils to a tight flame, and the sloshes of your fingers slinking in and out of you adds to the euphoria clawing through your core. 

“Your cock,” you whimper. “Stretches me out so good every time. You’re so _big_ , Mando, so thick in every way and it feels _amazing_. I bet you miss the way my sweet cunt clenches around you.” You bite down on your lip to hide a groan, wanting to hear his response as your fingers move even faster, scratching against the itch. “Don’t you?”

Your pussy flutters around your fingers at the first scrape against your sweet spot (finally!), and—well fuck, you’ve never seen much of him to actually _picture_ what his cock looks like driving in and out of you at the verioucious pace he usually chooses, so this is a little bit difficult than you thought it’d be; as long as you keep fucking yourself like this…

“Yes.”

Your breath shakes as you exhale. “Shit I wish you were here right now,” you rub your clit harder. “I-I want you to fuck me so hard when you get back, Mando. Want you to— _hmm_ —to grab me so hard that I have bruises the next day. _Use_ me. And you’d come right in my tight little pussy, isn’t that right?”

You don’t expect him to answer this time. Not when you’re so gone in your little cheraid and your pussy clenches harder and harder until there’s nothing but white noise tying you down to this moment. 

“ _Fuck_. Fuck I’m so close.” 

You try to conjure the feelings Mando gives you—the feel of his hands, pressing down all over you, fingers leaving indents in your skin, his mouth on your neck, biting down on the sensitive flesh until you’re marked; the drag of his cock along your slick walls until there’s tears in your eyes and you can feel him all the way to your cervix. 

“Mando,” you whine, then bite down on your lip again; the Child _certainly_ doesn’t need to hear this. “I… I need to hear you. Say something, anything.”

“Go ahead,” gruffer, close to a grunt—your pussy _gushes_ at that. “ _Now_.”

The command is clear, and it’s not going to take you that much to ride the waves of your orgasm starting to crash down over you. Your moans and whimpers trapped behind tight closed lips and your fingers covered in your juices, it takes a few more curves of your fingers and tight circles on your clit to feel the hard and delectable clench of your inner muscles. 

“ _Yes_ ,” your body trembles. “Oh Ma—” You hide the rest of the plea behind a muffled scream as short bursts of pleasure sparks through your entire body, your fingers trapped in the squeeze of your cunt as more juices flood down the slope of your ass, milking every drop of your orgasm. 

After a few long moments your tense muscles relax and deflate, relieved and satisfied. Though, the only problem is that it is short lived, an orgasm small enough to hold you over until the real deal comes back. Speaking of…

“Mando?” You breathe. “Still with me?”

“I’ll be there soon. Be ready.” And then nothing. 

Chuckling to yourself, you wince as you slowly pull your fingers out, wiping your slick covered fingers on your pants. 

And now you wait. 

For however long that’ll fucking be. 


	6. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a taste of Mando's 'hunting' skills firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out asap because I've fallen behind on it and I missed writing. This is essentially part two of "Playing with Fire"
> 
> Tumblr: @mcfreakin-bitch

The loud clashes wake you. 

You’re used to him being quiet, a shadow in plain sight, but with the amount of bangs and stumbles you hear, it has to be big and _bad_. 

“Kriff kriff kriff,” you mumble hurriedly under your breath as you scatter to find one of the blasters hidden up in the cockpit (where you had fallen asleep, crooked in the pilots seat)—luckily, the Child is sitting up here with you, sitting in one of the seats babbling incoherently to himself. 

“Shh,” you put your finger to your lips. 

The Child stops and gives you a look; yeah, you wish you knew what was going on, too. 

You whisper to the kid to stay and slowly creep towards the ladder, your heart pounding in your chest and blood rushing to your ears. You really, really hope it’s him down there. 

“It’s me,” a familiar, robotic voice calls out. 

You sigh in relief and immediately start climbing down with the blaster still in hand, pointing your finger away from the trigger and sliding down the last few steps. When you turn around, you expect to see the same ole Mando, a few bumps and scrapes and same attitude, but instead…

“Holy kriff Mando!” You gasp, rushing to his side. “What the fuck happened?”

His usually clean armor is caked in blood and mud from what you assume, and in the dim lighting you can make out a slash on his left forearm. His breathing is ragged but it appears more from exasperation than serious injury; it doesn’t ease the confusion and _fear_ flooding through you.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he grunts, prodding your hands away from the wound. “I can fix it up myself.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Let me help. And explain to me how this happened in the first place.”

In the back of your head, as you rush to find the medkit, you think that the call did it for him. 

“It was after we… talked,” Mando grunts again, plopping himself down on a nearby crate. “Wasn’t your fault,” he adds, as if he was reading your mind. “Happened like it always does. Thought they could get away.”

You yank the kit from under the clutter that you’ve been meaning to organize and sit at the end of the bunk, grabbing all the materials you need as he shuffles towards you—you suspect he’s too exhausted to argue with you. 

“Did they?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head and jerks it towards the carbonite. “Frozen.”

Nodding, you work on giving him a decent shot of bacta to ease the pain and start the healing process, not earning a single word or twitch from him as you patch him up; he’s used to too many harsh treatments. But he’s right you realize, looking at the cut up close—it’s actually not as bad as it looks and he could’ve patched this up no problem, which leads you to wonder…

“You sure they’re still alive?” You joke, but the hesitance in your tone let's Mando know. 

“They’re fine.”

You decide it’s best to let it go. Either way, you _do_ believe him. 

“I need to clean myself up,” he says when you’re done. “We can take off tomorrow.”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Tomorrow? I can pilot, you know.”

“I know.” He stands and watches you for a moment. “You think I was going to let that go?”

He doesn’t have to say what for you to understand. 

Without another word he struts towards the fresher, leaving you dumbfounded and aching with patches of dry blood on your fingers. 

***

Silence. 

Not like you’re not used to it but with as anxious as you are—practically bouncing in your seat with both jitters _and_ excitement—it creates a _deafening_ silence. 

On an update, another night on Edis has passed. You’ve just woken up not long ago, finding that Mando was still asleep; it annoyed you greatly to find him sleeping shortly after his long shower, fully clothed and armored—after you cleaned it—in the small space, but you also can’t blame the guy. So, with only the Child to keep you company, you wait. 

The Child gurgles and holds his hand up towards you, his little thumb twitching as those stubby things reach for you. 

“What?” You ask playfully, slipping your own thumb in his palm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you want, you little womp rat.”

Nothing, apparently, because he smiles and drops your thumb, going back to looking around curiously; you wonder what he’s thinking about right now, or what those thoughts _do_ sound like to him. 

“You need to pay attention more.”

You jump. “Kriff!” You pant with a hand over your heart, turning towards him with a glare. “And maybe you should stop _scaring_ me every chance you get.”

Mando shrugs. “Like I said, you need to stay alert. You spend too much time in your head.”

“You do,” you grumble childishly. 

“Hmm,” he hums.

Taking a step forward, he gestures for you to move out of the seat with the usual tilt of his head. You move to the seat right of him, not sure on what you should do, and watch as he settles in his seat and messes with a few switches. 

You expect him to say something, if not take off, but he doesn’t push the button or take hold of the levers, nor make sure that you and the Child are strapped in. He sits there, looking straight ahead of him, all postured and relaxed. It only fuels your frustrations even more. 

“I had a dream,” he breaks the silence. 

You blink at him. “Oh?’

He nods, shifting over to push a button—you can’t see what from this angle—on his vambrace. “It had me thinking about what you said.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but after a few seconds you realize he’s waiting for your reply. 

“I say a lot of things, Mando. You have to be more specific than that.”

He scoffs through the filters and turns fully towards you and leans his elbows on his thighs. “‘Like I’m one of your bounties’.” 

Ah, it clicks now. 

“That’s what you like?” He asks before you can react. “You like to think of yourself as the people I hunt?” He punctuates _hunt_ with a sharp grunt; a shiver runs through you. 

You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly going dry. All bravado when he’s not in front of you, and now that he is… well shit you just want him to fuck you. 

“What happened in the dream?” You backtrack. 

He allows it with a twist of his own. “How about I show you?”

“O-okay,” you stutter over your eagerness. 

Mando nods and leans back in the seat, spreading his legs as he gets comfortable. The movements are so carefree that it gets a different type of skip to your heart, if that makes any sense; _domestic_ , almost. _Casual_ , like he isn’t proposing chasing you in one of the thickest forests you’ve ever seen, catching you with the intents of fucking you so hard that no person in this galaxy will ever compare. _Relaxed_ , like he isn’t pissed if not annoyed at the… timing, of your little game; that was the point, wasn’t it?

“Run.”

Your eyelids flutter. Your body freezes, and a wave of arousal, even amidst the confusion, awakens every sense to that one single word and the meaning behind it—he’s doing exactly what you least expect him to do, but have been _craving_ for him to enact. 

It just… it almost doesn’t seem _real_. 

“Run?” You repeat, shrill like a droid you remember meeting a while back, one that Mando—in his nature—didn’t like, and why that’s popping up in your head _now_ out of all moments is something you cannot answer; already you’re a kriffing mess. 

“Run,” he confirms. “You have a few seconds head start.”

Okay, as much as this idea really fucking turns you on, there’s still serious, more pressing danger at hand. 

“But what about… are there any signs of life around here?” 

“You’re safe. I promise.”

That comforts you. It sets you at ease, so much that you almost forget the reason why he said it in the first place. 

“Go on,” he urges when you still don’t move. “I am, after all, making your _dream_ come true.”

Out of your shock, you find yourself snorting. “Yours too, evidently.”

Mando suddenly stands, taking that barely step to reach you and carefully pulls you up by a light grip on your forearm. You gulp, the feeling of his glove on you enough to burn your scorching skin through the fabric, and blink up at him with doe eyes. The visor looks down at you, and somehow you just know that he’s giving you the most _predatory_ glare he can muster. 

His hand leaves your arm and reaches carefully for your neck, wrapping his fingers around it, and squeezes, enough for you to feel the start of constriction; your pulse quickens under the skillful digits. His thumb prods at your bottom lip, bringing it down until your teeth show and your breathing becomes heavier; you can hear his do the same, but it’s more subtle than yours. It takes everything in you to not stick your tongue out and lick the orange leather. 

“You want this?” He asks quietly. 

More than anything. 

“The kid,” you gasp, suddenly aware of the tiny creature sitting behind him, probably watching this entire interaction go down without a care in the galaxy. 

“He’ll be fine. Safe, too,” he assures you calmly. 

“Okay,” you swallow. “Give me twenty seconds.”

He lets go and backs away, much to your chagrin. “Twenty seconds,” he agrees. “Starting now.”

It still takes you a few seconds for your mind to tell your body to move, and even then it feels like you’re actually _in_ a dream, rather than recreating one. Your muscles move achingly slow, down the ladder—where you nearly slip from clammy hands—to the ramp that’s opening for you, and when that first hit of fresh air hits your face, it all starts to come down on you. 

You’re actually doing this. 

Taking a deep inhale, you gear yourself up, bouncing in your steps; man you really wish you didn’t have to deal with the slickness sticking to you while running, but _when_ Mando meets his promise to the fullest extent, it’ll be one-hundred percent worth it. 

Once the ramp is fully down you take off. You don’t want to miss a single chance of this, and, if you’re being honest, you want this to be challenging for him. 

It won’t be, you think, as you run in a random direction in the humid rainforest. He knows this terrain better than you do, more experience at this kind of work than you, and that helmet of his lets him see in infrared—unfair advantages, sure; he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. 

You zig zag your way through the thick grass, avoiding branches and other various obstacles, but not without a few stumbles along the way—you keep going without looking back or slowing down. With each breath you take the hot, sticky air filters through, which makes it a little harder to run in, so you slow down once you feel you’re far enough away from the ship; in fact, looking behind you now, you can’t see the damn thing. 

Your legs push farther through the burn, your lungs fighting the same struggle. You have to quickly catch your breath, and it has to be short; it’s dangerous to stay in one spot for too long, so you will your muscles to move again, taking you to another zig zag that you hope is enough to throw Mando off at least a little—oh kriff. Shit. You might be fucking yourself over a little here, because if you had to find your own way back? _Forget_ it. 

Suddenly a branch breaks, not far from your right. You freeze. 

Your heart beats loudly in your ears and you can feel your face flush with presperiation and lack of oxygen as you hold your breath to listen. Something squeaks to your left; it sounds small, whatever it is. Nothing moves from your right. 

Fuck. 

You take off into a sprint again, not looking back, _fighting_ with yourself to not risk it; your adrenaline is so far up, you don’t realize just how far you’ve only ran from the Razor Crest, and every little noise alerts you—every sense of yours is on high alert, the prey searching for its hunter. With each noise you stop, crouch down, and listen, only moving when everything quiets down; he can be anywhere, watching you, following your every step with experienced ease, getting ready to pounce at _his_ time— 

You stumble into a tree. Thankfully, you were able to catch yourself before you face planted, and the tree is covered in moss and enough branches that you can make a decent climb on. 

_Climb!_

You go to reach for the closest branch when your sixth sense tingles. Hesitating, you take a quick look around. Wait, is that…

You dodge to your left, hearing the whip of the rope whiz by you; right where your feet were. You look back to where you saw that slimmer of silver.

Where the fuck is he? 

“Oh,” you exclaim breathlessly, then laugh. You take off running, though, during your laughter, only turning your head to yell, “C’mon Mando, thought you were better than that!”

You’re running in a random direction again, but that’s fine as long as it’s the _opposite_ from his. Grass and weeds scratch against your skin, irritating the flesh, and there’s way more broken branches and twigs over here; you have to slow down…

You immediately fall to your knees on the soft ground; soil that’s not too mushy, yet covered in enough moss that it softens the impact. Stifling your breaths, you crouch and peer through the various arrangements of trees and vines—you almost hooked yourself on one _twice_ —searching for a bright gleam in the haze. 

Nothing. 

Not a peep. Everything is still again, and if there are any lifeforms here, you’ve either spooked them or they’re hunting you, too.

You wait for a few more seconds. One… two… three… four… five…

A scuffle behind you. It’s right fucking behind you!

“Shit!” 

Your feet drag against the ground and it feels like you can’t fucking move fast enough. 

It’s him. You know it’s him. His eyes are on you, _teasing_ you while he watches you scurry like a frightened animal, and yes while it does thwart you to an extent, the juices sticking to your inner thighs explain the rest. 

Perhaps to just prove your point, you feel the light weight of string wrap around your ankles just as you stand, and luckily for you—no, Mando is a professional, he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing—you land somewhat gracefully on your forearms; the moss takes most of the impact. 

The rope tugs a little but otherwise he doesn’t drag you like a part of you thought he would. With your ankles bound and your heart pounding away against your chest, you listen out for those heavy steps; sure enough, they come gracefully, slowly, dragging every second…

“Laughing now?” He boasts.

You move to lay on your back, rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve the pressure between your legs. He’s directly in your view now, making no attempts at removing the binds.

“Look at you,” he coos; through the modulator you can still make out the _arrogance_ behind it. “I bet you’re fucking soaked right now.”

Of course you are. 

“Come and find out,” you bravely challenge. 

He inhales deeply and steps closer until his shadow towers over you, the helmet staring down at you with his chest puffed out. 

A deviant idea crosses your mind. “Slow now, Mando?” He doesn’t reply. You dial it up a notch and slip your hand into your pants, skipping right to it, moaning sweetly as you arch into your palm; wow, your panties are practically _drenched_. “Gonna just keep talking while I—”

You can barely _blink_ let alone finish your sentence and he’s _on_ you. Growling and groping at you like a desperate… _beast_. 

The prominent bulge in his pants rubs against your hip as he yanks your hand out of your pants, slapping it down and keeping it still. You gasp, so overworked that you help him by shifting your hips back and forth, giving him the friction he needs. 

“Fucking tease,” he whispers under his breath. 

Screw the humid air. Screw the itches blotching areas of abused skin, fuck anything that comes by and tries to stop this; he is all over you, bringing in his own heat, the kind that makes your mouth water, overwhelming your senses and his hands—tugging at your pants, not even bothering with the rope, and swiftly turning you around so that your cheek meets the ground, your lower half up and presented for him; the brush of wet air creates a different sensation for your sensitive core. 

“Think you’re tough,” he grunts, tugging your pants over your knees until they reach your boots. “But here you are with your ass in the air, begging for me.” 

A sharp slap echoes through the air and your cry laces with it. He slaps your ass again and again and again before kneading the red cheek. Then, you hear him fumbling from behind and you turn your head slightly to catch him wrestling his cape from the armor. To your surprise—and curiosity—he folds it several times into a perfect square and slips it under you, right below your hips. 

“Spread ‘em,” he orders. 

You do as he says to the best of your ability given the position, all the while every nerve in your body is buzzing with adrenaline—the anticipation increases to infinity when you see him undoing the strings and buttons of his pants from your peripheral vision.

Mando then presses your entire upper half further down with his weight, the helmet directly in your vision and the cold of the beskar stinging your hot skin; he smells like metal and powder with a twinge of sweat, an alluring scent that drags you deeper in his grip. The edge of his helmet rests against your left shoulder blade, digging uncomfortably into your skin but right now? You _welcome_ it. 

“Ready?” He grunts, the leaking tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. 

With a moan you nod your head, shifting your ass against him—his heavy girth slips through your drenched folds, earning you a throaty growl that tears a whimper straight from your chest. 

Without another word he shifts his hips and plunges into you as hard as he can. 

“FUMhm—” The rest of your scream is masked by his hand, fingers tightening around your cheeks. 

He barely gives you any time to adjust before he’s slipping out so far that the tip rests in your cunt, only to thrust back in as hard as he can go, knocking the air straight out of your lungs; the stretch is burning and he’s _already_ nudging against your cervix. 

“So fucking tight,” he grunts above you, keeping his hand on your mouth and the other by your head, using the ground as leverage to pull more of his weight into every thrust. “You’re always so tight, and I don’t know how with my big—” he punctuates with a harder thrust that gains speed. “—fat—” oh kriff he really is _everywhere_ , filling you with a delicious pain and fucking you with no signs of letting up the fast and brutal pace.. “— _cock_.”

Your legs are burning from both the chase and the rope but you don’t care, you can’t find an ounce within you that does—you will later. 

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” He goes on. _Yes_. “How long have you been thinking about t-this, _kriff_.” Too long. 

His cock scratches against every crevice of your velvet walls and you can... _feel_ him, a bulge in your stomach that he makes you feel by gripping your wrist and dragging your hand—the one that was clutching his forearm—with a lewd snarl. 

“Feel that? You’re always going to feel me there. In your _cunt_.”

He’s right. 

This thrust _literally_ pushes your body upwards, scraping against the soft soil. Thank kriff he still has his hand over you, because the whole fucking forest would be able to hear every moan and scream trapped beneath the orange leather. 

But the sounds of his hips and balls slapping against your ass surely will capture the attention of something, or _someone_. 

“I’m going to move my hand,” he grunts breathlessly; now you may be wrong, _surely_ it must be your imagination, but you can feel the faint whisper of his heavy breathes against your neck—it sends goosebumps all over, a tingle that makes your pussy flutter around him, which brings a low groan from his throat. “Try to stay quiet. You can be good for me, can’t you, pretty girl?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, those words sending waves of sparks to your nerves and straight to the _swish_ and _slosh_ of his cock and your juices—it’s almost as loud as the slaps of skin against _skin_ that’s how wet you are. 

Somehow, through the thick, lust filled fog, you rapidly nod your head. 

He removes his hand and the first intake of breath sounds strangled and _gargled_ , scratching your sore throat. You do as he says and bite down on your lip to prevent the moan bubbling in your chest, choosing instead to whine in the direction of the visor, pressed against your temple. 

“Answer me this,” he continues to grunt with each forceful snap of his hips; his hand pushes in between you and the folded cape, using a wet finger to rub tight circles on your neglected clit—wait, wet… kriff you’re practically drooling ( _again_ ). “You think I should let you cum after that stunt you pulled?” 

Oh no no no no. 

“Please!” You manage to gasp. “Please please let me cum Mando. It— _hmm_ fuck—it’s… it’s part of the d-deal.”

He comes to a complete stop.

_For the love of all Maker!_

“Wha—” 

“You already came. _Twice_.” He snarls. He moves his hand away from your clit, making you whine, and you want to move but you can’t and it’s torture; his cock rests heavy inside you, stiff and scorching. “It’s _my_ turn.”

Fingers wrap in your hair and _yank_ until the helmet rests under your chin. 

“Please,” you beg pathetically—you don’t care how whiny you sound right now, you _need_ to cum. 

“Pretty girl,” he coos. “You’re _lucky_.”

His _hammers_ into you again to your instant gratification, keeping your head up in the tight, burning grip as he pounds into you with all the pent up energy you riled him up with _days_ ago, hitting all the right spots. 

“If only you could feel how wet you are from this,” he gurgles. “A-almost slipping out from it. Fuck my _good_ girl.”

He gasps when he feels your lower muscles clench around him, the sound so erotic in that gruff baritone you imagine he has, that gets you reeling and at his feet with a snap of his fingers; your orgasm is so so _so_ close, just on the brink, but—

“Mghm.”

(Mando)

“You’re fwckng big, I want your hmm cum.”

(You’re fucking big, I want your cum)

“I know, fuck do I know.” He _whines_. 

He’s so deep inside you it’s not even funny, using his entire lower body to thrust _down_ into yours to the point where you don’t know how he hasn’t split you apart, and he’s getting hotter and _hotter_ , or maybe that’s you, or this fucking humidity sticking to you; you can barely feel the cold of the beskar against your thighs anymore. 

You can’t focus. You can’t fucking _breathe_. Not when he’s bringing you undeniable, unbelievable, otherworldly pleasure, playing your body like a fine tune, one that, if you think about it, he barely knows—and yet here you are, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes, your pussy fluttering and clenching so hard that you feel it deep in your bones, and Mando—though he told you to be quiet—seems to have lost control himself, growling and snarling and not at all minding that your moans have becomes uncontrollable as well. 

“Mando,” you let out a strangled cry, digging your nails in the moss. “I’m cumming—” another hard clench from you. “—keep going, oh please fuck don’t stop, you feel so good Mando _please_ —” he lets go of your hair and goes back to your clit and now _he’s_ moaning, a deep moan you haven’t heard from him before— _shit_ there it is. 

“Fuck,” he stutters your name. He says it again. “So good, hmm _hot_ —” His hips falter and edges dig deeper into your skin when thick, hot spurts fill your cunt to the brim. 

No _no_. You were so _close_. 

Right _there_. 

You can really cry right now. 

You expect him to catch his breath and climb off of you as you’re right there, cum leaking out of you and quivering from an orgasm teared from you— 

But it’s the Mandalorian you’re talking about here, _your_ Mandalorian. 

He keeps going, his cum extra lubricant _not_ needed, still rubbing circles on your clit; he pays attention to the sounds you make and slides his finger to each direction that drags them from you, keeping the same _slapslapslap_ echoing across the green and foggy land. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, I know you’re there,” he breathes. 

Mando wraps his forearm around your chest again before you can answer—or scream, _whatever_ —and pistons his hips to a slower, _punctuated_ rhythm. 

“Yes,” you cant, arching your back against him. “Mando Mando Mando.”

You clamp down around him one last time before you feel that coil in your lower stomach snap. Your mouth hangs open but no sound comes out as your lower half tightens around the Mandalorian, spasming through his thrusts and it feels like you’re literally _exploding_ , being torn apart into a million different pieces in this pure euphoric haze with nothing but the slow drag of his cock in and out of your shuddering pussy to keep you tied down. 

And—

“ _Mando!_ ”

He still doesn’t stop. 

Your body jerks and twitches beneath him but he pays no mind to it nor does it falter his movements. 

“Mando!” You cry again, yet _still_ shifting your hips up as far as he allows as he goes down. 

“One more,” it sounds like he’s pleading, begging _you_ ; a complete contradiction to the stone cold rough Mandalorian fucking _harshly_ into you. “ _One_ more pretty girl, I know you can.”

His finger doesn’t let up on your clit and you have the urge to wretch his hand away from the overstimulation. Tears are streaming down your face now and he slaps his hand back over your mouth—you must have gotten loud again. 

This is too much. You’re suffocating, and he’s mumbling something that you can’t hear but they’re coming out in slurs, like he’s drunk off your dripping pussy. 

“One more,” he repeats like a mantra. “I wanna feel you cum again, one more time, _c’mon_.”

His cock continues to spear every soft spot inside you, bringing you closer to the edge you’ve fallen off of only seconds ago. 

“ _Kriff_ ,” the curse goes muffled. He hears. 

“Yeah, yeah there you go, baby… _yes_ I’m gonna cum—”

Another spurt fills your stuffed entrance. This time you can barely feel the coil tightening again or the dig of his armor, the dirt underneath you, the soreness of your ass and pussy combined, _nothing_ ; just the endless fluttering of your pussy, the endless pull from your clit, and the hard breaths hitting exposed skin. 

You cum right after. This one is harder than the last one and _vulgar_ with all the sounds coming from your abused pussy. It’s more than you can handle, and as much as you love having him inside you, you just cannot last another round—without a break and something to eat. With your eyes tightly shut and your nails dug _deep_ into the dirt, you’re _wrecked_. 

Mando is, too. His body completely collapses atop yours as you catch your breaths; he’s heavy, too heavy for you, but you’re too weak to say something about it... fuck you can tell you’re going to be sore for _days_ , as promised. But the whole galaxy feels calm now, a good kind of calmness that is not alarming nor deceiving. 

After a few moments he lifts himself on clenched fists. You go to follow him—you need to get back to the ship as soon as possible, despite your body’s protest—but a firm pressure on the back of your head eases you back down. 

“I just wanna look,” he mumbles. 

You hum in agreement, keeping your eyes closed in content. From behind he takes a deep breath and slowly pulls out of you. You whine at the loss and you swear he does too, and the curse that escapes his lips is enough to make your pussy flutter again. 

“Made a mess,” he comments absent mindlessly. 

You open your mouth to make a smartass comment but he beats you to it by lumping the combined fluids leaking out of you and inserting it with two thick fingers back into your puffed and sore cunt. 

“Hey,” you whine, wiggling your hips. 

He chuckles and gives your ass a slap before you feel the binds around your ankles loosen. You stretch your legs out with a sigh, fighting the urge to slump completely. 

Getting dressed is quiet. Mando is quicker at it than you—the man has _incredible_ stamina—and he stays on the lookout as you lift your pants up shaky legs; when you go to stand you wobble and nearly tumble when his arms catch you.

“Can you walk?” He keeps his grip on your elbows. 

You shrug. “Um I don’t know, maybe?”

“Should I carry you back?” 

Wow, he’s joking with you now. 

You smile at the tease in his voice. “Piggyback ride?”

He scoffs. “Don’t push your luck.”

Worth a shot. 

You grin. “Mando?”

Mando lifts his chin. 

“That’s _four_ now.” 


	7. Let's Play a Game in Hyperspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're bored, so you get more than you bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that this is slowly turning into less plot more porn and i'm honestly vibing with it let's goooooo
> 
> Tumblr: @mcfreakin-bxtch

The stars look beautiful in hyperspace. 

It’s preferable to look at them when you’re not traveling by them at warp speed, when the time to fully appreciate them isn’t taken away—it’s the gleam that reflects on his armor that you’ve taken quite a liking to. 

Everyone is awake and sitting in the same space for once. You’re not tired and you can’t force yourself to sleep now if you tried. He let you sleep as soon as you got back from your er… screw it—from that glorious, luxirous, heart pounding, heart stopping, extradorary _fucking_ in the middle of Edis; you honestly can’t stop thinking about it. 

The way he manhandled you, the exhilaration pumping through your blood as he hunted you...

Speaking of, your entire lower half is still sore from yesterday. _Really_ sore. It’s even hard to sit down and you are certain that, when you’re not looking, he stares at your ass; no doubt remembering how the ample flesh jiggled from his thrusts. 

The Child squirms on your lap, reaching towards the Mandalorian sitting in the pilot’s seat, watching the stars as well. 

“How long is it going to take again?” You ask Mando. “And can you hand me that ball? He’s reaching for it.”

“A few days,” he answers as he unscrews the tiny ball from the lever. 

Okay, you kinda already knew that, given how long it took to get to Edis in the first place, but you’re so _bored_ now. And it doesn’t help that Mando can be _just_ as boring as the still atmosphere. Not to say with your lifestyle now that the pace isn’t good, it’s great when there’s no one trying to shoot at you—there’s an _unsettling_ in you that refuses to stir quietly. 

The Child gurgles happily from your lap with the ball in hand, immediately shoving it in his mouth, drooling over it with some of that spit dripping onto your pants; it’s not enough to raise a fuss over. 

“Wanna play?” You ask the Child exaggeratedly. Two round eyes peer up at you with a smile and baby coos. “Okay, c’mon.”

You cradle him to your chest and sit him down on the floor. Your bones crack and creak as you sit down in front of him, right behind Mando, groaning under your breath. You choose to ignore the barely there crackle he gives after. 

The next ten or fifteen minutes go by with the patter of the ball rolling back and forth between the small space. It’s actually quite endearing when the reward from the green child is the grins that show all small, sharp teeth, and laughter when you make a face or stick your tongue out or the ball rolls too far away from him; he especially loves it when Mando kicks it back to him. 

Like any other child he quickly gets bored of the game and slouches down with droopy eyes. Not saying a word you pick him up and lay him down in his pram, bundling him up, though you’re not sure he needs it that much, moving the pod so it’s out of the way. He settles comfortably with a little sigh and lays still—you have to _really_ zone your eyes in to see his chest move deep and steadily. 

“We should do something,” you sigh as you plop down in your seat. “Since you’re not doing anything.”

“I am doing something.”

“It’s on autopilot,” you counter. 

He sighs. “Like what?” The modulator asks. 

You shrug even though he doesn’t see it. “I don’t know…” You rack your brain for an idea, one that he may actually agree to. 

“How about we just ask each other a bunch of questions?” You perk up. “Like I ask one, you answer, then you go.” 

“No.”

“Well what about… I don’t know... “

“We can just sit here and do nothing,” he suggests in a smartass tone that makes your blood boil.

“Why?” You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “Unless you have better suggestions, give me a good reason on why we can’t play a simple game.”

“I don’t want to.”

The short answers are pissing you off. “You don’t know how to have fun,” you whine. “You know you should learn to loosen up a little, let yourself go, because if you don’t—”

“Fine,” he sighs aggressively, twirling around to face you. “If it’ll get you to shut up.”

“It will,” you beam. 

A moment's pause passes by. 

“Well?” He grunts. 

“I’m thinking,” you shush him. This is actually harder than you thought, being that you can’t ask him the things you _reeeeeally_ wanna know—like what color his eyes are, or his hair, what he looks like, why does he hate droids so much, what was his childhood like, what his name is…

“Favorite color?”

“I don’t—” He begins, but stops himself. “Black.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not even a real color! Pick something else.”

“Now you’re telling me what my favorite color should be?” He scoffs. 

“Yes.”

An agitated sigh leaves him; it doesn’t really faze you anymore. 

“Uh… green, then.”

“Better. Wait which shade—?”

“You really suck at this game,” he interrupts. “My turn, remember?”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “Go.”

“Favorite color.”

“I just asked you that!”

“It’s still a question, isn’t it?”

Asshole. 

“Y/F/C… what’s your preferred weapon of choice?”

He lets out a surprised hum; that peaked his interest. “Blaster, I think. Or my rifle.”

“Oh,” you squeak. “What happened to that rifle anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he waves off. “Too busy with the bounties and the kid to care about that right now.”

“Favorite drink,” he takes his turn. 

“Um probably Hoth Chocolate. Enough with the favorites, what about—now you don’t have to answer this, but this has been bugging me: how _old_ are you?”

Mando chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “Isn’t that considered a rude question to ask someone?”

You grin at the tease. “Not if it’s between _partners_.” 

“Partners,” he repeats. 

Oh no. What does _that_ mean?

“Y-yeah.” You swallow. “W-what else are we?”

A part of you wants him to answer the question, but another part of you, the one that’s afraid to hear what he has to say about your place here, wants to stay in the bubble of ignorant bliss; The Mandalorian has been known to be selfless, the Child living proof of the statement. 

“Guess,” he tells you instead, completely veering off that awkward conversation. 

“Okaaaay,” you rack your brain. “I think early to late thirties.” A breath. “Am I right?”

“Yes.” He confirms. “Good guess.”

“Thank you,” you beam. “Your turn now.” 

“Where are you from?” He asks quickly. “Originally, before I found you.”

It’s not so much the question itself that takes you back, but the speed of which he asked it—like it’s been on the tip of his tongue. 

“Felucia, actually.” You clear your throat. “Nothing but jungle, really. I didn’t mind it so much but my parents well, they had a different setting in mind. I was lucky I even made it this far in the parsec,” you try to bring a light of humor to the last part. 

“I’ve never been there,” the modulator tells you gruffly. 

“S’not so bad when you get used to it,” you shrug your shoulders; you decide to push your luck a little further. “Same question.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head at you. “Aq Vetina.” 

Aq Vetina. 

“Never been there, either,” you whisper. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes.” He doesn’t offer any other details, so you brush it off and move on; he gave you more than you could ask for. 

It goes back and forth like this for about eight more questions until you’ve run out of questions to ask (you can tell that Mando does not mind that at all). Games have to end at some point, yet you’re still disappointed when he lets everything go quiet again—still, today _is_ a win for you, so you can stay that at least. 

“Are you done?” 

That shakes you out of your trance. No, you don’t want to be, but what else can you ask him?

“I guess,” you sigh deterjectly. 

“What?” He’s annoyed again. “I can hear it in your voice, just spit it out.”

“It’s not—it’s _nothing_.” 

He studies you. Trying to figure you out by your facial expressions so you try to keep your face as blank as possible; you don’t think it’s working. 

“I know it’s been bothering you,” he finally speaks. You raise your eyebrows. “You want to know my name, and I don’t blame you.” Your heart literally fucking stops. “And—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” you blubber out, sitting up. “Honestly, that wasn’t my problem at all and I don’t want to know if you’re doing this because you feel like you have to. What we have now is good, you don’t have to… _indulge_ me for my sake.”

“But if I really want to?” He persists. “What if I want to hear you _scream_ it.” Your pussy—fucking Maker the only word you can think of is _jumps_ —at the implications. “Whimper it when I’m deep inside you. A gasp of it when I touch your clit, chanting it while I fuck you so hard that you can’t _stop_.” Your breath hitches. “I think about these things, too, you know. I’m still _human_.”

You do now. 

“So I’ll ask you again. Do you want to know?” 

You gulp. Is this supposed to be a trick question? “Y-yes?” You clear the lodge in your throat. “Yes, I want to know.”

The visor stays trained on you, not moving an inch at all, nothing to indicate what could be going through his head right now. The anticipation is _devastating_. 

It’s _excruciating_. 

You can disintegrate into a crip right now. 

“Din.”

Din. 

_Din_. 

“Din,” you test on your tongue, tasting and savoring every syllable of his name, his _birth_ name. 

“Djarin,” he finishes, clasping his fingers together. “Case you were going to ask that, too.”

You laugh. _Din Djarin_. 

Din fucking Djarin. His name, he told you his _name_. 

“Nice to meet you, Din Djarin.”

The helmet shakes back and forth as his shoulders jitter up and down with unrestrained laughter—filtered, it’s one of the most wonderful sounds in the galaxy to you, so you don’t even want to think about how _catastrophic_ it would be for you if it wasn’t. 

“Not… what I was expecting you to say,” he breathes. 

“What did you think I was going to say?” You grin. 

“Don’t know, maybe a smartass comment.”

“Don’t blame you for thinking that,” you laugh again. “We’re pretty good for that, aren’t we?”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Hm.”

You wait. He stares. The Child is still asleep. 

Where do you go from here?

“So uh, what do we do now, captain?” You joke, an attempt that goes completely over his head. You start to fidget in your seat, suddenly all too aware of the covered eyes watching you. 

“How are you feeling?” He eventually asks. “From yesterday.”

Something stirs deep in your chest, flowing down to the space between your legs, making them twitch in resistance—it doesn’t go unnoticed, because the helmet looks down just an inch.

“Sore,” you answer honestly. “But _good_.”

“Yeah?” There’s an edge to his voice. 

“Yeah,” you echo—to you, it sounds like you’re underwater. 

“One more question,” he sits back casually with a spread to his legs and heavy arms crossed over the metal chest plate. “Did you ever think about riding me in this chair?” You don’t answer. He already knows. Just one look. “I’ll give you that. Just say the words.”

Oh you will. But first—“Mando, can _I_ ask one more question?”

“Yes.”

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. A creak sounds low in the cramped space and you blink in time to see him lean forwards and reach his hand out tentatively, using his thumb and forefinger to cup your chin and gently pull your lip from your teeth. 

“Tell me,” he orders. 

Your thighs rub against each other. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You hold your breath... ten seconds… okay any longer and your heart is going to burst right out of your chest. 

“Yes.”

He pauses like he’s searching for your face for a reaction—you just blink at him. You mean, you had a hunch considering he was very _experienced_ the first time he fucked you, which just makes everything seem so scarily simple yet somehow even more complicated; you’re torn, basically and crudely, between your pussy and your own head. 

“Okay,” is all you can muster.

“There are ways, like what I did before when…” He trails off. “Look—do you trust me?”

Your answer is immediate. “Of course.”

“Then do as I say when I say. Got it?” 

You nod. 

“Good. Then close your eyes and _keep_ them closed.”

You do as he says without question, excitement bubbling up inside you. Oh kriff it’s more than excitement, that command got your pussy slick with all the possibilities to come in the next few seconds… or minutes, depending on what Mando is looking for with all that rocus. 

It’s difficult, keeping your eyes shut. Your eyelids flutter under the resistance, but you will _not_ break his trust. Your mouth is so dry now, you might have to ask him for a drink to saturate the nerves—you had a canteen of water somewhere…

His steps echo from under you. He’s in the hull, your guess being to lay the little one away from the pit. 

He’s coming back up. It takes everything in you not to look and to keep your legs from rubbing together again to appease the growing ache boiling in your core. Boots stomp towards you methodically. A rough fabric is wrapped around your eyes, and he’s careful of tying the knot so that it’s not too tight but neither loose and gives it a good tug. 

“Good? Can you see anything?”

“No.” Your voice is trembling. 

Fingers tug at your pants. “Can I take them off?”

“Yes,” you nod. 

You help him by lifting your hips and toeing your boots off, then pull your legs out of the fitting fabric. You shiver when his gloves run up your legs—he starts at your ankles, applying only the slightest of pressure, then quickly to your calves, where he gives just a little more attention, and finally to your thighs; he teases the apex of your inner thighs, playing with the waistband of your panties.

There’s no way he can’t see how _wet_ you already are for him. _Smell_ it, too. Even with the flimsy piece of cloth covering you, it still feels exposing spread out for him like this—not far enough, because Mando uses the hands on your thighs to push them farther apart. 

“Please do something,” you exhale shakily—it feels like you barely have enough air to force the words through your teeth. 

“ _You_ will,” he mutters. 

The _swoosh_ of air is the only warning you get. The Mandalorian surges forward and he _kisses_ your clothed pussy; a loud, sloppy one that he can’t help but mix with tongue. Your hips jolt and a surprised moan rasps from your throat. 

Barely two seconds after, you feel two hands grip under you and yank you forwards. You barely have enough time to find something to clutch on to or to react in any type of way before he plops down heavily with you snug against his lap; with his fingers digging deep into your skin, he slots your hips perfectly against his, legs on either side of him and hands resting on his shoulders for support. 

“I’m going to take my helmet off,” he says. “And I want you to be good and ride me in this chair.” He rolls his hips against yours, inhaling softly at what you are certain is the heat coming from your pussy. 

You follow his lead and grind down against him, taking your time in warming up. He guides you by placing his hands from your ass to your hips, pulling your forwards and down in time with his slow thrusts, keeping his sighs soft and low. 

“Mando,” you whine, the fabric of your panties rubbing deliciously against your clit. 

“D-Din,” he reminds you with a grunt. 

His hands move away from you, your body automatically missing the bruise of them, and a hiss disturbs the objection bubbling on your lips. A soft _ting_ scratches against the floor next to you. 

This is the second time he’s taken his helmet off in your presence, but it’s the first that you’ll be able to feel those lips that felt so plump and _good_ on your pussy the last time you were in this familiar setting—pilot’s seat, kid asleep— 

You feel it. 

The first hot breath that ghosts against your open mouth. Dances across your cheeks and smells faintly of the broth you had made for him earlier. Another breath that makes your heart flutter and a strong revelation flow through you—his lips are right there, you can kiss them, _taste_ him, and you can twirl your fingers in his hair—wait does he have any?

So that’s the first thing you do. The curls feel surprisingly soft, a little oily but that’s mostly from the helmet, you think. You run your fingers through them, lightly scratching his scalp as you do. He moans, appreciating the special attention. Your hips move faster. 

“Din,” you gasp. “Din _kiss_ me.”

Din doesn’t waste another moment and _slams_ his lips against yours in a rough kiss that clashes teeth and cuts lips. 

It’s perfect. Messy, and awkwardly _perfect_. 

Your moans become his moans. Your breath becomes his, and vice versa. His lips move directionless but stern, slowly mapping the texture of yours; his tongue flicks against the seams, asking for entrance and you allow it with a deeper kiss, swirling your tongue with his—hot and slithery, they play a dance of dominance, one that you will willingly hand to him. 

“Fuck,” ( _fuck_ ) he breaks the kiss, keeping his lips on your cheek. “I can feel you, pretty girl. Always fucking ready for me.”

Oh Maker. That voice. His lovely, gruff voice—melodic, you recall from the first time you heard it. It’s _back_. 

Through your shirt he gropes one of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh; he teases until finally he pinches the perk nipple poking through the thin fabric, tweaking it. You whimper and search blindly for his lips with yours—he grants you with a quick kiss.

He stops your moving hips and you hear the shuffle of his pants before you feel them slither down just enough for him to pull his cock out of the confines. The _slop_ of his fist around his thickness reminds you of the burning coil awakening in your lower stomach, bringing an aching pulse that’s too much to ignore. 

“I got you,” he assures you in a rush, and then you feel leather pressing against your lips. “Bite down for me.”

You do as he says, carefully avoiding flesh—and ignoring the taste of powder and dirt on the worn gloves—while he pulls his hand out and gives a small tug. The glove drops in what you assume was his open hand, because you hear the soft _flop_ of them against the—

“Oh!” Your eyes scrunch underneath the blindfold. 

Your weeping walls stretch around the two fingers plunging into your wet heat. It stings just a little, but the more he thrusts his fingers _slowly_ , mindful of the abused muscles, the more it starts to fade into pleasure. After he feels your muscles relax they curl inside you, searching for the spot that makes you scream, and when he finds it—he knows by the soft mewl and the jitter of your hips—he repeatedly nudges against it.

“Look at you, riding my fingers—fuck it’s a sight,” he taunts. “No, you can do better than that. _Ride_ them.” 

Your thighs burn from the effort, but you listen and do it anyway. Din starts pressing open mouth kisses beneath your jaw, tilting your head to the side with his; he sucks on one particular spot that immediately turns you to a puddle in his arms—he’s sucking hard enough that you know it’s going to leave a nasty bruise; another mark. 

“Feel that? Feel how h-hard you get me.”

You do. And he is fucking _stiff_. Precum smears on your thigh as you move against each other, and with his small grunts mixing with yours you reach your hand down and grab the head of his girth, giving the hot tip a small squeeze. 

“ _Maker_ —you gotta—” you smile and _sloooowly_ slide your palm down the length of him, smearing and using the precum as lubricant. He grunts and thrusts in your hand. “— _shit_ g-give me a warning, this is the second time.”

You giggle. Leaning down so that you feel the heat of his neck against your lips, you whisper sultry, “But you like it.”

His hips push up again and your hand becomes even slicker coming back down. As you go to tease him further he scissors his fingers and holy fucking _kriff_ if that doesn’t get you bouncing.

“I could cum like this now,” he gargles. His fingers quicken, you give the head of his length a squeeze each slide up. “Keep going—” then, a whisper. “Keep going.” 

You lift your thighs and pull all your weight down, crying helplessly as you feel your pussy throb from your clit to the drag of two—

“Can you handle one more?” Din purrs in your ear. “Can this tight pussy take it? _Huh_?”

“ _Hmhyes_!” You whimper pathetically pitched. 

“Good girl,” he praises smoothly. 

His fingers stir and another pokes at your pussy lips, toying with the sensitive folds before adding it to the two; add about one or two more and it’s the equivalent of taking his cock. 

A string of incoherent moans and babbles replaces any sense or logic you had out the window. Right now you’re his fucktoy, letting him curl three thick fingers inside you; to feel those skillful fingers curl each time your pussy engulfs them, the slow burn of pleasure clawing at you, burning you from head to toe in its complete euphoria—what the kriff this is just his _fingers_. 

Will it be like this every single time? 

“Ma— _Din_ ,” you moan. “ _Din_.” You don’t know what you’re trying to tell him. Your senses are back on high alert (without the exception of sight) and he’s the palm of his hand to grind against your neglected clit; it’s covered in sticky juices. 

“Are you gonna cum?” He pants. A wet path from your neck to your chin cools on your hot skin as soon as his tongue stops, your pussy clenching around him in response. 

“ _Mhmm_ ,” you gasp, trying to keep an even rhythm of your hand and hips; no matter how hard you try, it’s uneven, but based off the sounds falling graciously from his lips, it doesn’t matter at all. 

The coil in your stomach tightens and travels to the convulsing muscles stretching around his fingers. Here it comes...

Then he stops. Pulls out and swats your hand off him. 

“Din,” you growl. “Stop _fucking_ around.”

Mando— _Din_ —laughs against your throat, the vibrations riveting through you. If you weren’t so fucking horny and left, once again, on the verge of an orgasm, your heart would probably be skipping wildly against your ribs at the lightness—but don’t forget _taunting_ —of his laughter. 

An elaborated smack of lips and spit echoes in the pit and it takes you a good solid second to realize what it is—he’s sucking your slicks off his fingers. 

“Oh pretty girl,” he coos, brushing fingertips against the edge of where your shirt had ridden up, giving the slither of skin goosebumps. “Just slide on.”

You grab him as soon as he gives the permission and position him at your hungry hole with his help. A whine rumbles in a pitch when you slide him through your folds, spreading your juices on him. 

Your name comes out in a warning with blunt nails scratching for extra measure. Deciding that there’s been enough teasing for one day you line him up again and sink down on his length. Simultaneous moans echo, and even though he prepared you enough, it’s still painful from before. 

“Stay still,” he murmurs gently, rubbing soothing circles onto your thighs. “Relax.” He whispers against your collarbone, sliding his bare palm underneath your shirt and going for your breasts again, circling the areola. 

You shiver and inhale deeply through your nose, wait until you feel your diaphragm tightens, then exhale through your mouth; the tension of your muscles starts to ease with every passing exhale until you feel so _full_ that he has to move. 

“I’m ready,” you gulp, readying yourself by placing your hands on the pads on his shoulders. 

“Then _move_.”

Right, this is _his_ ride. 

Your calves nearly slip off the edge of the narrow chair, and they would’ve hadn’t it been for Din’s fast reflexes, catching your thighs before they slant over. He slides down a few inches and wraps his arm around your lower back so you can arch perfectly in his arms. 

The action brings him deeper inside of you, poking harshly against your cervix. “F-fuck,” you whimper pathetically.

With his encouragement you swivel your hips in a slow circle, testing the boiling water you have much experience with before pulling back as far as you can, leaving his tip in and slinking back down. He sighs in relief, letting you take control. Using his body as leverage to push down, you hold on tightly to avoid leaning; his cock barely hits your g-spot but it’s so hard to _move_ without falling off. 

Din abruptly lifts his thighs to thrust up into you and there’s a _second_ for you to scramble when you feel your knees start to slip again with the creak of the seat; he’s pushing himself forward, keeping you pressed tight against him; the cold stings your chest. 

“This isn’t working,” he sighs. 

“Floor,” you point down. 

“Y-yeah.”

One arm unwraps from you and fiddles with… something while he curses under his breath. A sharp tug and tear gives the implication that it’s his cape. Then, staying inside you, he lifts you up with a stifled groan—your legs wrap tightly around his waist, afraid that the one arm he’s using to carry you will give and he’s going to drop you; he leans down in a sideways angle, huffing and grumbling. 

The shift of his body has no control over the way he snuggly sits so deep inside you and when he yanks his arm around like that he’s fucking spearing your g-spot so hard that it actually makes you yelp. 

“Fuck that was in my ear!”

“S-Sorry.”

Your stomach flips and you feel yourself being lowered down but instead of the cold ground you think you’re going to feel, your back hits rough cotton. And on the back of your head, a hand cradling you. You wrap your arms from his shoulders to his neck and pull him down on you, humming approvingly when he catches your top lip in a lopsided kiss. 

“ _Move_.” You plead. 

Clicks and clatters sound low in your ears, followed by soft thumps near you. Then finally, _finally_ he grinds—he took his armor off. You don’t feel the edges of it anymore on his body and he feels warmer; solid, soft and _real_. Both gloves are off his hand as well, keeping your hips still as he takes his time with your pussy. His shirt is still on, as are the pants and plates that cover his thighs—that you can still feel against the back of yours—but otherwise this… this is the epitome of being naked for the two of you. 

It’s not long before the slow pace isn’t enough and he grips your lower back to lift your hips a few inches off the ground and starts _pounding_ into you, balls slapping against your ass and you, blubbering like a complete mess. You throw your head back in a wail, locking your ankles around him. 

“T-this is better than the first time,” you keen. “I can feel so much more, _fuck_.”

He doesn’t answer to your confessions, only lets out a string of animalistic grunts and growls that shoots straight to the point where his cock drives in and out of you. That’s okay between his pelvis on your clit and the delectable drag that edges you closer and closer to your release; it’s hard to focus on anything else.

Abruptly he pushes your legs straight up and slings your calves over his shoulder blades, using his hands to hold them steady and uses the new angle to shift his hips and spread his legs aways from your thighs. 

And he _punches_ down into you like he did in that forest.

“I ca—” You don’t even know _what_ you’re trying to tell him; _I can’t feel my fucking legs right now, I can feel you so deep inside me that your bulge is showing through my stomach, I can’t let this go_ — 

Din stops at the end of a thrust and roughly tugs your shirt up and over your chest. He circles his hips and grabs your breast, playing with the soft mounds. 

“Hmm,” he hums something else in a language you don’t understand in a husky moan, swiveling his hips in a slow circle again. 

“Din!” You sob; you faintly taste salt on your lips. 

He keeps his hands low on your waist and returns to fucking you, pulling you into his thrusts in a harsh rhythm; he accidentally slips out after the fifth thrust, sliding against your clit instead—with breathless giggles from you and a huff from him, he gives a gentle push that goes straight back to the rough fucking. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” You cry, digging half-moon shapes into his forearms, not caring if it’s hurting him or not in the moment. 

“Kriff you hear that?” He puffs breathlessly. All you can hear is the claps of skin against skin. “I-I think about this when I’m alone. Think about what you do when you’re alone, b-believing I can’t hear you. Think about fucking you as—as soon as I come back. Pussy too good, so good,” he slurs at the end. 

“Keep talking,” you beg him, slipping your hand in between your bodies to rub tight figure-eights on your clit; your pussy jolts around him. “Say anything _please_.”

“I—fucking _kriff_ that’s good—want to cum on your pussy. See you all—” he swivels his hips (oh fuckingmakerabove that’s amazing, _fuck_ keep doing that), and moans deeply when your pussy spasms around him again. “—covered in it. _Pretty girl_ please say yes, I’m so c-close.”

“ _Yes_.” You’ll do anything. “Yes Din I wanna be covered in your cum, wanna…” Your mouth hangs open but nothing comes out, the air being pushed out of you. 

His cock drills faster into you, pushing your legs forwards so that you’re slightly curved and leaning on your shoulder blades to keep your lower half upright. He’s hitting everything _right_ in you but then he slips out _again_ —his slippery dick slides against your pubic bone.

“Keep slipping out,” he chuckles, pulling back to thrust in, filling you to the brim. “I do that to you?”

He continues his brutal thrusting, enlightening the nerves sparking through your cunt.

_Slap!_

“ _Answer_ me.”

Wait what was the question again? Maker how does he expect you to function when he’s fucking you so deliciously like this? How the hell is _he_ able to?

“All the fucking time!” You cry; right choice. 

His hips stutter and you can feel his cock start to swell. You swirl your finger faster against your clit and the first clench of your cunt knocks what little air you had stored in your lungs right out of your chest in a strangled gasp.

“I’m cumming,” you think you hear yourself say, but it’s hard to tell with the blood rushing to your ears and the numbness curling your toes—it could be the gargles you faintly hear, or the persistent moans that’s impossible to ignore. 

“Such a _mess_ ,” he snarls like an animal above you. “You better cum because I’m close, shit please tell me you’re close.”

You can’t answer him. You want to but you can’t. Your pussy convulses around him in sporadic patterns, squeezing and squeezing and _squeezing_ until the coil snaps and your lower muscles clenches and there’s _nothing_ but the release of your juices gushing on his cock, constricting around him until every muscle in your body flops and twitches, and your brain doesn’t feel like it’s about to come down from the fog he’s put you in. It's an intoxicating pleasure he’s given you more than once, twice before and yet it’s new every time; addicting as the one before, leaving you hungry for more but satisfied in the moment. 

“ _Yesyes_ , _oh fuck_.” 

Din gasps and quickly pulls out of you, leaving your cunt quivering in the shocks of your orgasm. You hear the squelches of him jerking himself off before hot spurts splatter on your puffy folds with deep, throaty growls that resonate into _you_ ; his cum dribbles down your pussy and to your ass in thick glops. 

Suddenly you wish you could see it for yourself. But there is something you can do…

Feeling around, you gather a decent amount of his cum on two fingers and, making sure he’s watching by pausing until you hear the strangled whine, stick them in your mouth. The taste is salty and not your favorite by all; still, you make the point to hollow your cheeks and moan as you swirl your tongue.

“ _Shit_.” With short, heavy gasps he runs his cock through your ruined folds and pushes back in. You’re still sensitive and wither uncomfortably, your pussy fluttering around in more aftershocks. 

“Ijustwannastayforafewseconds,” he slurs the words together in a jumbled sentence, dropping your exhausted legs and laying back down over you, resting his forearms by your head. 

“I’m that good, huh?” You tease.

“I liked it better when you couldn’t talk,” he mumbles gruffly against your shoulder. 

“Aww,” you pat his head with a little unnecessary force. He pinches your side in retaliation. 

Your chests move in sync as you catch your breaths. Up, down. Up, down. You think you can feel the steady beat of his heart—faint, but prominent, still. 

“We have to find a different chair to use,” you say into his hair. 

“I know.” 


End file.
